Not easily broken
by aficionada-de-libros
Summary: A traumatising accident has dramatic consequences for the king and crown prince of Mirkwood. With the help of old and new friends, can they make it through the storm?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: It started with two chapters from my one-shot series "Let me show you that I care". Upon request, I made them into a full story, although some insistent plot bunnies had a major paw in crafting this fic. Andy the willow tree, this is for you! And wswpub, this is the backstory you asked about in your review for "A gentle passing".**_

 _ **What you will find is angst, drama, hurt/comfort, family, friendship, and humour. No romance of any kind, but lots of bromance. What a surprise.**_

 _ **Starring (in alphabetical order): Elladan, Elrond, Elrohir, Elros the Guard, Erestor, Feren, Galion, Glorfindel, Legolas, Thranduil.**_

 _ **Timeline: About a year after Celebrían sailed. There will be some references to my other story "Home Truths". Legolas and the twins are young adults.**_

 _ **Please don't look for canon; none of this appears in the books or the films. But if you would like to put faces to the characters, insert PJ's choice of actors – I love them. Just don't go searching for an idiot Thranduil, because you won't find him.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Not Tolkien, not Jackson, not owning anything but the plot.**_

 **Chapter 1**

Afterwards nobody could tell exactly _how_ it happened.

They were out in the woods that surrounded the palace, inspecting the damages left by a catastrophic storm two days before. The Elvenking stood in the middle of a clearing, discussing something or other with one of his wood wardens, while the crown prince carefully moved around from tree to tree, putting his hands on rough or smooth bark and connecting with the life force underneath.

A tender smile played around the king's lips as he saw and felt the trees happily greet their prince. Sensing his father's attention on him, Legolas half-turned to see what was the matter. Their eyes met across the distance, and for a long moment the chatter around them faded into the background. Many centuries of living the way they did – a two-person family of father and son, king and crown prince, nearly always on display in the midst of a busy court life, in a kingdom hard-pressed by the ever growing darkness – had taught them to perfect the art of wordless conversation. Legolas smiled, revelling in the unbridled affection and approval in his father's eyes, and returned the look with one of his own, full of love and joy. _'It seems we have made it through another storm,_ ada.'

Thranduil inclined his head just the tiniest bit at the gentle brush of his son's mind against his own. ' _Aye,_ ion-nin. _We always do. Together, we always do.'_

Suddenly a stiff gust of wind swept through the treetops, much stronger than the light breeze that had been blowing all day – an ungentle reminder of the recent storm that had wreaked havoc on vast parts of the Greenwood. The next moment, everything happened too fast. One of the giant old trees screamed out a warning just in time for the Thranduil to whip his head around and see a massive branch break off from a forked part of the trunk, crashing down towards the spot where Legolas was standing. The young elf was frozen in shock, the scream of the tree still painfully piercing his senses, effectively paralysing him.

Thranduil moved with a speed and agility that surpassed even his natural elven capabilities, driven by the force only a parent in desperate fear for their child possessed. In the end, though, he was a fraction of a second too slow. He managed to push Legolas out of the way, practically catapulting him to safety. The infinitesimal reduction in speed resulting from this manoeuvre, however, was too much. With a sickening crack, the broken branch hit the Elvenking's shoulder, felling him and burying him underneath.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Hello again! A big thank you to all reviewers, favouriters, and followers. I'm thrilled to hear that you liked the first chapter so much! Now, are you ready for the next one?**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Not Tolkien, not Jackson, not owning anything but the plot.**_

 **Chapter 2**

For a few horrible moments, everything went deathly quiet. Guards, advisors, wood wardens – everyone stood rooted to the spot, aghast at what had just happened. Legolas was on the ground, having lost his footing at the almighty shove by his father. It took him a few seconds to get his bearings as he pushed himself off the forest floor, but then an incredible pain made itself known and he doubled over, gasping for air.

Feren and Elros were the first to shake themselves out of their daze. One dove towards the spot where the Elvenking lay, pinned to the ground by the broken branch that was almost as large as one of the younger trees in the Greenwood. The other one ran over to the crown prince, his keen eyes searching for injuries even as he approached the young elf.

One of the advisors started barking out orders, sending a messenger to the palace to get help and equipment. Meanwhile several others moved to lift the branch off the Elvenking, but a frantic shout from Legolas made them all freeze mid-movement.

"Stop!" The prince stumbled to his feet, his twisted knee and sprained ankle almost giving out under him, but his tone urgent and commanding. "Stop. Do not move the branch, or you will kill him."

Elros put a steadying hand under Legolas' elbow, helping him to stay upright. "What do you mean?"

"Just _look_!" Legolas panted and curled in on himself again, arms wrapped around his ribcage.

Suddenly they understood. The young elf was feeling his father's pain through their bond. Feren dropped onto his stomach and carefully slid into a gap under the branch until he could see the Elvenking. "He's right!" the guard called over his shoulder. "There's a splintered end of a smaller branch stuck in his back right under his left shoulder blade!" Even more carefully than before, Feren crawled back out and stood. "We need to cut the splintered part from the branch before we can move the whole thing. Someone needs to get under there and hold the king steady while someone else does the cutting from above, so they can keep the branch from crashing down on the king when it comes loose."

Feren hadn't even finished speaking when Legolas was already halfway to his father. A moment later a pain-filled groan was heard, then the prince's clear voice: "Do not move, _ada_. Help is on the way, but you need to stay completely still." There was a bit of rustling, and more groaning. Finally all movement beneath the broken branch ceased.

"Legolas ..." The raspy whisper elicited sighs of relief all around.

"It is all right, _ada_. They will have you out in no time. Just try not to move, please."

That was the sign for the rest of the group to get to work. And while they quickly and efficiently got on with their task, Legolas tended to his father as best as he could under the circumstances.

Thranduil's injuries were truly worrying. Where the splintered wood had pierced his back, a blood stain slowly spread across his silver robe. His left shoulder was clearly dislocated, and Legolas could feel several broken ribs under his hand when he carefully ran it along the sides of his father's ribcage to assess the extent of the fractures. The most shocking evidence of the amount of pain the king was in, however, was the fact that his age-old burn scars now lay open for everyone to see.

"Legolas ... are you uninjured?" Thranduil whispered, fighting to keep his eyes open and get a look at his son.

"I am well, _ada_. Do not be worried on my account," Legolas replied in as calm a voice as he could muster.

"Good ... good." For a moment it looked as though the king was going to say something else, but an agonising wave of pain swept through his body and it was all he could not to scream. His fingers started to dig into the soft forest soil, as if trying to find something to hold onto, but Legolas caught his father's hand in his own and inched closer to him.

"I know it hurts a lot, _ada_ ," he whispered, feeling a considerable amount of his father's pain through their bond. "But try not to fight it, or it will only hurt more."

Still holding Thranduil's hand, Legolas gently ran his other hand over his father's head and neck, doing everything he could to comfort him. Gradually, some of the painful tension bled away from the king and he relaxed into his son's tender touch.

\\*/*\\*/

Time passed, how much, they did not know. Father and son on the forest floor listened to the others who were beyond the confines of the wood and leaves, working to free their king from the deadly trap. Careful though they were, each and every tiny movement of the branch sent another stab of white-hot pain through Thranduil's battered body. Legolas felt his father build up his inner defences in order to shield his son from the ordeal, but that was the last thing Legolas wanted. "Please do not do that, _ada_ ," he pleaded quietly. "It only costs you strength that you cannot spare now!"

The Elvenking slightly shook his head, but his body had other ideas. Shock was relentlessly setting in and he began to shiver. Legolas twisted a bit, sliding one hand under his father's head to cushion it, then repositioned himself so they were flush side against side, in an effort to provide his father with as much body heat as possible under the circumstances.

" _Saes_ , _ada_ ," he repeated. "Please. I can take it. Just let me."

Thranduil didn't have much choice in the matter anymore. It was hard to follow through on any rational thought as his body slowly abandoned all unnecessary functions in its fight for survival. Under any other circumstances he would have been mortified at his lack of control, but he simply could not spare the energy.

His son's soft words became a reassuring hum, a cocoon of safety. Legolas was here, hale and whole and wonderfully alive. Little else mattered.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: My dear, wonderful readers, thank you so much for your reviews, favourites, follows, PMs ... I am really happy that you like my story so far. I've plotted and sketched this one for so long, but I can hardly find the time to write it down properly. I will try to update once or twice a week, but I'm not making any promises. Just know that, short of getting hit by a giant tree branch like poor Thranduil, I will never abandon my stories. For now, though, here's the next chapter. Enjoy – and maybe let me know what you think._**

 _ **Disclaimer: Not Tolkien, not Jackson, not owning anything but the plot.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 3**

 _Continued from chapter 2: Legolas was here, hale and whole and wonderfully alive. Little else mattered ..._

\\*/*\\*/

"My prince?" Feren's voice was suddenly very close and Legolas glanced up to see that the trusted guard had returned to their side under the dangerous roof of wood and leaves. "We've secured the branch. We're now ready to cut."

The young elf exchanged a look with Feren that clearly communicated both relief and urgency.

"If you hold the king as still as possible, I will secure the splintered part so it won't move and aggravate the injury. As soon as the cut is made, they will lift off the branch. We have a stretcher ready to take the king back to the palace," Feren explained while getting in position. Very carefully he wrapped a clean linen cloth around the wood where it entered the king's body, then took firm hold of the offensive object.

Thranduil stirred at the movement, unable to stifle a groan. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knew what was happening and that he needed to remain completely still, so he fought his body's instinct to get away from the source of the injury. Unfortunately, the muscles in his back chose this very moment to seize up, and he cried out in pain.

Legolas winced. There was only one way he could think of to relieve his father's distress, but he had never done it before. He took a deep breath. At least there was no way he could make this any worse. Holding him in as firm a grip as he dared, Legolas touched his forehead to his father's and sent a wave of his own life force into him.

Immediately Thranduil stilled. His cramped muscles relaxed and he was able to breathe again.

"Now!" Legolas panted, surprised at the sheer intensity of the exchange.

Feren blinked, trying to understand what had just happened, then gave a curt nod and relayed the command.

There was a moment of tense anticipation in which Legolas braced himself and tightened his grip on his father. Then the sawing started.

Of course they had known that, despite all precautions and skill, even the slight movements of the wood would cause the king more pain, but none of them was prepared for the raw scream that almost instantly tore from Thranduil's throat. Horrified, the workers stopped what they were doing, but at Elros' hoarse command to continue, they did. Feren forced himself to fully focus on his task and shut out everything else.

By now, Legolas was in a considerable amount of pain himself. Dredging up every last bit of self-control, he held back his tears and quietly spoke to his father to calm him down. It proved to be an exercise in futility. Thranduil was in so much pain that it overrode all other senses.

Not knowing what else to do, Legolas again reached out with his mind. _Focus on me, ada. It will not be much longer_. _Soon we can take you to the palace and the healers will help you._

His only answer was a thunderstorm of pain, fear and humiliation _._

 _Be still, ada. I am here._

But Thranduil's body refused to obey his mind and chose the worst possible moment to fully go into shock. Within the space of barely a minute, he was drenched in cold sweat and all his limbs went cold and started to go numb, while in the muscles at the core of his body, an uncontrollable tremor set in.

"Legolas, you need to keep him still! He'll bleed to death in no time if this piece of wood gets dislodged from its position!" Feren warned the young prince sharply, at the same time feeling guilty because none of this was the prince's fault ... or the king's.

Again, Legolas tried to get through to his father, sending another wave of strength into him, while more or less shouting at him in his mind: _Saes, ada! You need to fight this!_

All he felt in response, though, was what he could only describe as a mental sob: _I can't!_

Legolas tightened his physical and mental grip on his father and took a deep breath to calm himself down for what he was going to do next. _Then allow yourself to pass out, ada_. _It is all right. I am here. I will catch you._

Both knew that this was a risky path to take. Both of them had seen injured warriors die from shock, even when their wounds should have been survivable. But both also knew this was the only way to give Thranduil a fighting chance later.

 _Please. Trust me, ada_.

This time the answer was calm. _I trust you, ion-nin_. _And whatever happens, know that I love you and that none of this was your fault._

Legolas pressed even closer to his father's body and gently kissed his forehead. _I love you, too. Forever and always._

A moment later, the king's body went completely limp.

\\*/*\\*/

Feren watched with growing trepidation as father and son slipped into a state of total detachment from their environment. Urging the workers on the other side of the green canopy to hurry up, he whispered a prayer for his king and prince to make it out of this alive.

With only a second's warning and a sharp snap, the splintered wood separated from the rest of the branch, and it was all the guard could do to absorb the momentum to keep it from moving in the wound. When the giant branch was lifted off a few moments later, Feren heard gasps and quiet exclamations of horror all around. He wasn't surprised. King and prince both looked to be more dead than alive.

"Bring the stretcher!" he shouted, masking his own fear with brusque impatience. Elros dropped to his knees at Thranduil's and Legolas' heads, forcing himself to put his fingers to the pulse points at their necks.

"Why is the prince so weak?" Elros asked, confused.

Feren shook his head. "I am not sure, but I believe he is feeding his life force to the king through their bond. We need to hurry, or we'll lose them both."

Elros nodded in understanding. "Get a second stretcher!" he ordered in his battlefield voice, startling the guard standing nearest to him into action.

Fortunately Sadron, the head healer, chose this very moment to arrive at the scene. Within moments, he had taken in the disaster that presented itself, and started a quick examination of first the king, then the prince. "My brave boy," he whispered at last and brushed a few strands of blond hair from Legolas' pale face: the only indication of how deeply he was affected. Having lost his own family in an orc raid many centuries ago, Sadron had come to the palace with a group of other asylum seekers from the south of the Greenwood shortly after the death of the queen. Little elfling Legolas had immediately captured his heart, so instead of sailing, he had stayed on, winning the trust and friendship of the king and working his way up to his current position. The king and his son were as dear to him as his own family had been. Now, however, he had no choice but to distance himself from his feelings.

"I will need to separate them in order to take them back to the palace. Have that second stretcher ready; the prince will not be able to walk." Then, bending over Legolas, he went about waking the young elf.

Thankfully it took nothing more than a few firm words and a slight shake of his shoulder for the prince to open his eyes. "You need to let go now," the healer instructed. "Your father is safe enough, thanks to you. We are ready to take you back to the palace."

Legolas blinked a few times to fully return to the here and now, then gently, and somewhat reluctantly, pulled away from his father.

With the uttermost care, Feren, Elros, and two other guards lifted the injured king onto the stretcher. Leaving out only the immediate area around the injury in his back, they covered him with their cloaks to keep him warm. Finally Elros pulled the hood of one of the cloaks over the king's head so as to keep the burn scars in his face hidden away from prying eyes.

Straightening from his crouched position, the guard looked around at the horrified bystanders. "I probably need not say that this is no matter to be discussed on the palace grapevine," he announced in a tone that brooked no dissent. "If I notice anything to the contrary, be assured that you will regret it for the rest of your days."

Startled out of their gaping, the other elves dutifully returned to their respective tasks. Elros went to help Feren place Legolas on the second stretcher. To their great concern, the prince neither questioned nor fought their actions. He simply complied, his eyes never leaving his father even for a second.

Only when the stretchers were lifted to start the walk back to the palace did Legolas stir again. "One moment, please," he said quietly to Elros, who was gripping a handle by his head. "Get me next to my father, please."

When they were close enough to touch, the young elf reached out and took his father's hand. He pulled a small clasp, a delicate silver leaf, from his hair where it held his braids in place and slipped it under Thranduil's palm, closing his fingers around it. "In case he wakes up and cannot see me ... so he remembers that I am all right," he explained a little shyly to Sadron, whose face had taken on a quizzical expression at the action. "Can you make sure it stays with him?"

"Of course, my prince," the healer nodded.

"Thank you." Legolas settled back down, let someone tuck a cloak around him for warmth, and closed his eyes. Knowing there was nothing more he could do for the time being, he allowed himself to fall asleep to the rocking motions of the stretcher as he was being carried back to the safety of the palace.


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Hello again! I am happy to have received so much positive feedback so far - thank you so much, all of you! Here's the next chapter. Perhaps not much action, but some good old Legolas-and-Thranduil h/c. Don't put your tissue boxes too far out of reach.  
**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Still neither Tolkien nor Jackson, so still not owning anything but the plot.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 4**

Legolas opened his eyes to the soft glow of the lanterns in the healing ward. He did not remember falling asleep, though he suspected the pain medicine he had been given had played a part in that. It didn't matter much at this moment, however, for the sight that greeted him overcame all light-headedness and exhaustion.

On the bed next to his own was his father, by all appearances sleeping ... or maybe unconscious, Legolas couldn't tell. He was on his side so as not to put any pressure on the injury in his back, dislocated shoulder set and the arm firmly bound to his chest to keep it in place. A sheet and blanket were pulled up to his waist, his torso bare, the long, fair hair pulled into a loose braid for convenience. His eyes were closed, his burn scars fully visible, his face even now drawn into a pained frown.

Legolas sat up, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. Ignoring the twinge in his knee and ankle and the bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to draw all his limbs towards the ground, he rose and made his way over to his father. He carefully lowered himself on the edge of the bed and wrapped his fingers around his father's. Alarmed at how cold they were, despite the well-heated room, Legolas got up and fetched his own blanket. With great care, mindful of the many injuries, he spread it over his father and lightly tucked it in around him. Then, balancing on his unhurt leg so he wouldn't further strain his other knee and ankle, he knelt down by the bed.

Again taking his father's hand in his own, he gently lifted it to his cheek while running his other hand over his father's head in a soothing motion. Of all the times he had seen him injured, this was by far the worst. He had come so close to losing him.

" _How did it go? How is my father?" Legolas asked anxiously when Sadron stepped out of the room where he had spent the last five hours treating the injured king, into the private chamber of the healing ward that was reserved for the royal family._

 _The healer, still rubbing his hands on a towel, gave him a measured look. "You should be resting, my prince," he admonished quietly as he took in the pale, drawn face of the king's son._

" _I bathed, I changed my clothes, I had my knee and my ankle looked at," Legolas objected, a little more curtly than he meant to. "And now I am resting, in a chair by the fire. So how did the operation go?"_

 _Sadron wisely refrained from commenting on the dark shadows under the crown prince's eyes, or the way his hands restlessly clenched and unclenched in the fabric of the king's bloodied cloak that he held in his lap. Instead he pulled up a chair and sat down opposite the young elf. "Frankly, it was a lot more complicated than I had hoped for," he started. "I had to work very slowly because there are so many vital blood vessels and nerves in the spot where the wood was stuck. The good news is that, contrary to what I had feared, his lungs are uninjured, and no major blood vessel was damaged. The bad news, however ..."_

 _Legolas sat forward, his fingers now in a white-knuckle grip around his father's cloak. "Yes?" he whispered fearfully._

 _The healer studied his face for a moment, wondering how to phrase what he needed to say. "Apparently the wood was rotten in some spots, and disintegrated when it pierced the muscle. There were many loose splinters stuck in the wound. Due to their position, I was unable to remove two of the larger ones. It would have been too dangerous."_

 _The young elf shook his head in confusion. "What does that mean?"_

" _They are located dangerously close to the spinal nerves. One wrong move could have paralysed the king."_

" _So they are still in my father's body? Is that not even more dangerous?" It was hard for Legolas to wrap his head around the explanations of the healer._

" _Yes, it is dangerous, too. But the risk of trying to remove them was too great, especially with all the bleeding and swelling in the area. I ... I simply do not have the skills to do it," Sadron admitted with a helpless look in his eyes. "I am sorry," he added quietly._

" _So ... what happens now?" the prince asked after a moment of silence._

" _First of all, we wait for the king to wake up. Then I will be able to assess the full extent of the damage. Sometimes such injuries resolve by themselves. The body has amazing healing abilities; one never knows. Also, I will write to Lord Elrond, asking him for advice and for help. If indeed more surgery becomes necessary, he is the only one who can perform it," the healer replied._

 _Staring into the fire, Legolas asked in a barely audible voice: "What is the worst thing my father might face when he wakes up?"_

 _Sadron had feared this question, as much as he understood it. "He might be partially paralysed, possibly from the shoulder blade downwards."_

 _Again, silence fell between the two_ ellyn _. Finally Legolas said: "I want to stay with him."_

 _The healer's features softened. "Of course. I will have a bed prepared for you next to him. But promise me that you will sleep for a while. The king has been given strong medicines; he will not wake up for several more hours."_

 _Legolas nodded, then took a deep breath and looked up. Leaning forward again, he grasped Sadron's hands and squeezed them. "Thank you. I know you have done everything you could."_

Studying his father's marred face, Legolas marvelled at his strength. He had been faced with so much pain and loss in his long life, it was a miracle he had not sailed of faded a long time ago. Surely he would succeed in overcoming this new hardship, too.

Still, a nagging doubt remained. What if this was the one time too many? What if this was what broke the spirit and iron will of his beloved father? Would he lose him after all?

Momentarily overcome by fear and greatly exhausted by the events of this day, Legolas let his head sink onto the mattress. " _Le melin, ada_ ," he whispered. "Please do not give up. I need you so much." Tears that he had been holding back for so long now slipped down his pale face and, holding his father's hand against his cheek for reassurance and comfort, the young elf fell asleep again.

\\*/*\\*/

Sometime during the night, a fever set in. Sadron assured Legolas that this was a normal reaction to the severe injuries the king had suffered, but it was worrying nonetheless. Hands and feet were still cold to the touch, but the rest of his body was virtually burning.

With the fever came the nightmares. Of what, Legolas could only guess, but his father's anguish was unmistakeable. Distressed moans escaped Thranduil's lips, and under different circumstances he would have been tossing and turning on his bed. As it was, Legolas and Sadron struggled to keep him as immobile as possible for fear of his wounds opening again.

In the end there was no choice but to administer another dose of sleeping medicine to calm Thranduil down, and even then he was not resting peacefully. Legolas looked at Sadron, concern and uncertainty warring in his eyes. "Is there nothing we can do to help him?" he pleaded with the healer.

Sadron stepped closer to the prince and put an arm around his shoulders. "Legolas ... I know it does not look that way, but all of this is normal. It must be very upsetting to you to see your father in such a state, but actually he is not in any danger. If he was, believe me, I would not be standing here so calmly. He is in pain and he has a fever, but there is no sign of infection, and his heart and breathing are strong. I know it is futile to tell you to stop worrying and retire to your room, but I would advise you to go back to bed and sleep some more. I will watch over your father and over you as well."

The young elf allowed himself to lean into the wiry frame of the healer as he had done many times throughout his life. "I am scared, Sadron," he admitted miserably.

" _Ai,_ Legolas, _iston_. I know. I am, too."

\\*/*\\*/

In the early hours of the morning, just as the first rays of the sun were touching the tips of the mighty Greenwood trees, Thranduil started to stir to consciousness. Sadron was immediately at his side, one hand on the head of the king, the other one on his hip, to keep him from moving too much. "Thranduil," he addressed him calmly but firmly. "Thranduil, open your eyes if you can hear me."

With some difficulty and after a few failed attempts, the king succeeded in opening his eyes, although the lid over the left, sightless one was much slower to react. "Very good," the healer praised while carefully taking note of every minute detail about the king's condition. He still had a fever, although not as high as during the night, and his posture was stiff and awkward, clearly indicating the considerable amount of pain he was in.

"What ... where ... Legolas?" Thranduil's voice, though hoarse from disuse and lack of moisture, was strong enough to carry over to his sleeping son. Immediately Legolas' eyes focussed, and with one fluid movement he was on his feet and crossing the short distance between their beds.

" _Ada?_ " he asked anxiously.

"Legolas!" A weak but relieved smile crossed the king's face. "You are unhurt!"

"Yes, _ada_ , I am unhurt," the young elf replied before the healer could contradict. "Do not worry. Nothing happened to me."

An anguished expression replaced his father's smile. "I dreamed that I was too slow and the branch hit you ... I could not get to you ... You were ..." His voice broke and tears ran from his eyes. "I saw you die ..."

Legolas shot Sadron a disconcerted glance. It was so unlike his proud, strong father to lose his composure to such a degree that the young elf warrior feared some unknown danger might be making itself known.

The healer, however, slightly shook his head. He straightened himself from his stooped position over his patient and placed a comforting hand on the tense neck for a moment before stepping away and letting the king's son take his place.

Legolas once more knelt down by the bedside and, taking his father's right hand, touched foreheads with him. "It was only a dream, _ada._ It is all right. You saved me. I am alive, _ada_. I am here, and I am well. We are both safe."

 _ **A/N2: Now I'll go and work on the next chapter. While I do that, may I request something? Tomorrow (in fact, starting in less than four hours) is my birthday. I would really love for everyone who reads this chapter to leave a review, even if it's just one word ... that would be a REALLY great birthday present. Pretty please?  
**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Thank you so much for all your reviews and birthday wishes, especially the guest ones to which I can't reply personally. You're wonderful! Today I will spare you a long author's note and get right on to the chapter. Lydwina Marie: please don't hurt me just yet *winks conspiratorially*.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: see chapter 1. Don't sue me, I'm as broke as you.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 5**

By mid-morning, Thranduil's fever was almost gone, and helped by the pain medicine and a few other carefully mixed herbs, he had finally fallen into a restful sleep.

As relieved as Legolas was, he also realised that there were a few unpleasant tasks that he could not delay any longer, now that the king was out of immediate danger.

With a slightly worried frown Sadron listened to the prince's announcement that he was going to be off for the next several hours. "I have to catch up with the king's daily business, and there will be a council meeting later. Believe me, my father would not be happy if I let things slide while he is incapacitated," Legolas explained in an attempt to forestall what would in all likelihood become a lengthy discussion with the head healer if he didn't nip his protest in the bud.

"Legolas, can it not wait? You are injured, you have barely slept, and your body needs to replenish the strength that you poured into your father," Sadron objected as expected.

"The court needs to know that the matters of the kingdom are in capable hands. Also, they deserve news about the well-being of their king. I will cope." Legolas was determined, but at the worried gaze of the healer conceded: "I will come back immediately after lunch, which I promise to eat," he added with a small smile.

"I would be more inclined to trust you to go through with this plan if Galion was here to enforce it," Sadron sighed.

"But Galion is away for a few days, visiting his family. And I have fed myself for nearly a thousand years now, so I am sure I can manage one meal."

"Oh, I know you _can_ , my prince – it is more about whether you _will._ But be that as it may," the healer said, "not only will you come back after lunch (and no detours!), but you will bring something to eat for your father as well. Something light, please!"

Legolas, however, was already out the door.

\\*/*\\*/

Feren and Elros exchanged a meaningful look, not for the first dime during this council meeting-turned-inquisition. What had started as a harmless question about the accident had escalated into a discussion of culpability. Why had no-one noticed that the branch was about to break? Why hadn't Legolas moved? Why had no-one else reacted before the king did, even though they were closer to the crown prince?

Nobody asked out of malice, hostility, or in order to place blame on anyone, but out of a genuine desire to know what had occurred and how such accidents could be prevented in the future. Nevertheless things were somehow getting out of hand, and Feren and Elros were getting more annoyed by the minute. None of the inquisitors had been present during the accident, or even been to the site afterwards. Legolas bravely faced and fielded all their questions, but he was flagging. To those who did not know him well, he looked perfectly calm, collected, and in charge, but the two captains of the guard, who had helped train the young warrior, saw that he was almost at his limits. The only question was how to end the council meeting as soon as possible without causing their prince to lose face.

Suddenly Feren's attentive eyes lit up with an idea. "High Council, if I may." He rose to speak, his clear voice rising easily over the din of the ongoing discussion. He possessed enough seniority to be allowed to speak up in council. Also, his actions as part of the king's personal guard had been questioned, just like everyone else's, so it was not that much of a surprise that he would want to give a rejoinder to that had been said.

"We have been sitting here for hours, discussing things that most of you did not witness in person. In order to assess the situation fairly, I would assume that it is in everyone's interest to inspect the scene of the accident. It is getting late, though, and we have not even had lunch. Would it not be better to reconvene in the afternoon and inspect the site? That way everyone gets the chance to look at things with fresh eyes."

The suggestion received nods of approval all around and a grateful glance from Legolas. "That indeed seems to be the next logical step," he announced. "If there are no objections to Captain Feren's proposal, we will meet again –"

But the crown prince did not get to finish his sentence, for the door of the council hall flew open and a somewhat breathless guard entered.

"What is the meaning of this?" Legolas demanded in a voice that reminded everyone just _whose_ son was standing before them.

"Forgive me, my prince, but Lord Sadron sends me. Your presence is urgently required."

Legolas swallowed against the lump that was suddenly lodged in his throat, but decades – centuries – of training as a prince _and_ a warrior prevented his anxiety from reaching the surface. With a curt nod of acknowledgement towards the guard he smoothly continued: "We will convene again tomorrow mid-morning to inspect the site of the accident, as Captain Feren suggested. I declare this meeting adjourned."

\\*/*\\*/

 _Concern_ didn't even begin to describe what Legolas was feeling as he hurried back to the healing ward as fast as dignity allowed. Sadron would never interrupt a council meeting if it wasn't serious.

When he turned the last corner, he tried to listen for any clue as to what was the matter. All he could hear, however, was Sadron's soothing voice and his father's most annoyed tone.

"What is going on?" Legolas asked as soon as he had closed the door behind him.

"My prince! Thank you for coming so quickly. Forgive me for the rude interruption, but could you please convince the king that there is no need for him to drag himself out of bed and into the council meeting to read them the riot act?"

The young warrior stopped in mid-step and gaped at the scene before him. His father, currently wearing not much more than bandages, a linen sheet, and a thunderous expression on his face, was stubbornly struggling to sit up on the side of his bed while the healer stood by with seeming indifference and made no move to help or hinder him.

" _Ada_?" Legolas asked in disbelief, "what on _Arda_ are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" Thranduil growled, though without any real heat. The small effort of trying to sit up was quickly draining him and he wanted nothing more than lie back down and sleep. But he was still ruler of this kingdom, and he had a job to do!

"With all due respect, _adar_ , it looks like you are being incredibly stubborn and doing yourself more harm than good by it," Legolas replied, secretly relieved that some of his father's usual temperament was back.

The Elvenking raised an eyebrow, but before he could respond, Sadron stepped in.

"Your father woke up and asked about you. To be fair, I made the mistake of telling him about the council meeting, whereupon he insisted on getting up, going there and reaming his council out for their lack of common sense, at which point I decided to send for you, leading to the present state of affairs," the head healer explained on one long breath.

Both father and son stared at him, fleetingly wondering exactly how many subordinate clauses the usually taciturn elf had used in one go. Then Legolas shook himself out of his musings and crossed the short distance to his father's bed. "It is all right, _ada_. I will tell you all about it if you wish, but _please_ lie back down. I can see that you are hurting."

Thranduil, barely holding himself in a semi-reclined position, shook his head. "No. Just help me to sit up for a minute. I am aching all over from lying in bed for two days now. Maybe a change in position will help."

Sadron's features softened. "Of course, we can do that." He gestured for Legolas to support Thranduil on his uninjured side while he made sure his patient didn't aggravate his injuries. "You might feel a bit dizzy," he cautioned.

Thranduil nodded his understanding and gripped his son's shoulder for balance as the three of them manoeuvred to sit him up. At first the king felt nothing worse than an uncomfortable pull at his wounds. There was also the dizziness Sadron had warned him about, but it was nothing he hadn't experienced before.

A little out of breath but overall happy about the change in position he sat on the side of his bed, still holding on to Legolas who supported him with a slight upwards pull on his upper body. When the room stopped wobbling before his eyes he nodded again. "Thank you. I think you can let go now."

Legolas and Sadron carefully tested if Thranduil was really able to hold his own before they completely loosened their grip. Already drained but determined to stay upright as long as he possibly could, the injured elf placed his right hand on the mattress, supporting himself on his uninjured arm. This subtle change in angle, however, had an unexpected effect. For a split second, Thranduil felt his vertebrae shift the slightest bit before a blinding pain shot from his back wound through his entire torso, and with a gasping shout of pain, he passed out.

\\*/*\\*/

"What _was_ that?" Legolas asked the healer after they had returned the king to a prone position in his bed, and after Sadron had conducted a thorough examination – more for the benefit of the prince's peace of mind than in order to make a diagnosis.

"I believe the movement and the increased pressure between the vertebrae caused the splinter to shift and press on the nerve. Not only is this extremely painful, but the nerves in this area of the spinal column influence all kinds of bodily functions, from heartbeat to breathing to part of the digestive system. I am not entirely surprised that this reaction occurred," Sadron explained patiently.

Legolas stared at his unconscious father, still shaken by the episode. "But what does that mean? Will this happen every time he tries to sit up? And what about standing or walking? Does it mean that he will remain incapacitated?" The crown prince looked at the healer with pleading eyes that reminded Sadron of a much younger Legolas.

He stepped closer and put a comforting arm around the young elf. "For now it simply means that we need to take much smaller steps in getting your father mobile again. The body is able to learn and cope, but it will take time. As I said, I will write all of this to Lord Elrond and ask him for advice. I am sure he will be able to help. We just need a lot of patience now."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Legolas snorted. "Patience? You know this is my father we are talking about, right?"

The head healer smiled and squeezed Legolas' shoulder. "I firmly believe that _everything_ can be learned, my prince," he replied cryptically. "Failing that, however, I know for a fact that your father would do anything to prove everybody else wrong."

Legolas laughed a little, then sighed deeply. "I really hope you are right," he whispered.

\\*/*\\*/

A faint sound tore Legolas from his light doze. Even before conscious thought could catch up with his reflexes, he was on his feet, taking a protective stance in front of his father.

Then he recognised the elf standing at the foot of Thranduil's bed. "Galion! You are back!" he sighed in relief. His posture relaxed and he cast an apologetic look at his father's personal attendant. "Forgive me. I was startled."

The head servant smiled although worry and sorrow were clearly written in his dark eyes. "It is me who needs to ask forgiveness, my prince. I did not mean to disturb you. I should probably not even be here. I just ... I had to see for myself how you and His Majesty are doing ..." At a loss for words, his quiet voice trailed off.

Legolas shook his head. "Please, Galion. I am glad you are here."

The other elf smiled again, but his smile faded fast as he took in the vast areas of his lord's body that were covered in bandages. As his eyes reached the king's scarred face, a pained expression crossed his features. "Is it this bad?" he whispered.

The barely audible question seemed to imply more than just an inquiry about the extent of the injuries, but Legolas knew not how to respond to that. "We do not know exactly how bad, not yet, but he is in a lot of pain."

Galion's next question was even more difficult. "How did this happen?"

Legolas' shoulders sagged, and he slumped back into his chair where he'd been sitting by his father's bed. "I ... He ..."

"It was an accident," Sadron's clear, confident voice cut into the prince's helpless stammering. "An accident caused by the severe storm damages in the forest. It was simple coincidence that the king was the one getting injured. It could have been anyone."

The crown prince averted his eyes, looking once more at his father's marred and pain-creased face. Legolas realised that the head healer's words were meant more for his than for Galion's benefit, and they were intended to be reassuring; but in his overwhelmed mind, they turned into a harsh accusation. _It could have been anyone. It should have been me._


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Thank you again for all your reviews on the last chapter, and sorry about the wait! Between being away, being ill, and having to work, this chapter just refused. To. Be. Written. Good news is, the next one should be up in a week's time, if work and health permit. Thranduil is not the only one with painful back problems ... But for now, enjoy this one.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: see chapter 1. Don't sue me, I'm as broke as you.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 6**

The following day found the court council gathered at the site of the accident at the appointed time. Legolas appeared last, as was befitting his position as crown prince, but also because he didn't want to give the impression of trying to manipulate things behind the backs of the council. When he arrived in the company of Elros, it was to a very sheepish-looking council and a very smug-looking Feren.

"What is going on?" he asked, all of his senses immediately on full alert and the wheels in his brain turning double-time.

"My lord Legolas, the trees are not talking to us," one of the Silvan councillors replied meekly. "They refuse to tell us anything before speaking to you, my prince."

"Told you," Feren muttered, feigning innocence when several indignant council members turned in his direction.

"Well, that can be easily remedied," Legolas stated, swallowing an amused smile.

When he looked around to decide to which of the trees to talk first, he noticed that one of them appeared to be fading that had been perfectly healthy on the day of the accident. Legolas stepped closer and put both hands on the bark, listening for the song underneath. It was sad, almost mournful.

 _What is troubling you, my friend?_ he asked the age-old oak.

 _My prince! I am so sorry that I could not prevent this terrible tragedy! It is my fault that the king was so grievously hurt. How is His Majesty doing?_

A disheartened sigh escaped Legolas' lips. Of course, he should have recognised immediately that this was the tree from which the branch had broken. When had he become so slow in picking up on what was happening in his surroundings? Now even the trees were suffering from his lapse of action!

 _Do not fret, my friend. The king lives. And the accident was not your fault._

A gentle, more upbeat rustling of leaves was his answer. _And now tell the others to talk to the councillors_ , Legolas continued. _They mean no harm, and they are as protective of their king as you._

 _But are they protective of you as well, my prince?_

Legolas sighed again and rested his forehead against the rough bark. _I am sure they are. Just help them and give them the answers they seek, and they will judge fairly._

The prince felt a soothing melody flow into his fingertips and smiled. _Thank you, my friend. See you again very soon._

\\*/*\\*/

Flanked by Feren and Elros, Legolas stood off to the side of the clearing while the Silvan councillors conferred with the trees and the others deliberated among themselves. Pale and quiet, the prince was lost in his own thoughts.

The two guards exchanged meaningful glances, mindful of Sadron's warning to keep an eye on the crown prince. _"Anything might happen when he returns to the site of the accident. The memories might set off an unpredictable reaction,"_ the healer had said when he had come to speak to them earlier, right before they left for the woods.

"How was your father this morning?" Feren asked in a low voice, so as not to startle the prince.

Legolas, though, flinched anyway. "In pain," he replied after a beat, "but slowly starting to mend." Very slowly. Too slowly. But Elros and Feren didn't need to know that. They were dealing with enough feelings of guilt of their own as it was. "I will tell him that you asked about him. He will be glad to hear it."

The prince's eyes roamed the clearing, taking in every detail and committing it to memory. Seeing the remnants of the massive branch on the ground – even cut to pieces – was a sobering reminder of how very nearly he and his father had died two days ago. In his head he knew that it had just been an unfortunate accident, but his heart rebelled at the randomness of it all.

Studiously ignoring the scrutiny of the two guards, he chose to follow up his earlier words with something else that needed to be said. "Thank you for helping to save my father's life. If it were not for you, things might have gone much differently. You did excellent work ... but you also were of great comfort to me. For that, I will be forever grateful."

\\*/*\\*/

The sun was standing low over the treetops of the Greenwood when Legolas finally returned to the healing ward to see his father. Sadron met him at the door to catch him up on the day's developments. "His shoulder is healing, albeit slowly. His ribs are starting to mend as well, though it might be two or three more weeks until they are fully healed. His other wounds, however ..."

Legolas cast a glance over the healer's shoulder to where his father was resting in his bed, pale and with pain-drawn features. "I wish there was something I can do ..." he said, almost to himself.

"Well, you had the right idea with this," Sadron replied, nodding at the tray Legolas had just set on a small table by the doorway. "Have dinner with him. He will be more inclined to eat with you for company, and he's been asking about you quite a few times over the day. He was worried how that council meeting was going to go."

The prince's lips curled into a small smile. "Of course he was. Well, he shall worry no longer." And picking up the tray again, he went over to his father's bed.

" _Ada_?" The one gently spoken word was enough to rouse Thranduil from his light slumber.

"Legolas!" A smile of delight lit up the king's face. "It is good to see you, _ion-nin._ How was your day? How did it go with the council?"

The prince chuckled and, setting the tray on the chair, lowered himself on the edge of the bed. "It is good to see you, too, _adar_. I have missed you today. But everything went well. The councillors send their greetings and wishes for a speedy recovery." He slid his right forearm underneath his father's and cradled it against his leg. It was a poor substitute for a proper embrace, but as every major movement still caused Thranduil so much pain, it would have to be enough for now. "And how was your day, _ada?_ "

The Elvenking sniffed in disgust. "I was bored out of my mind, since Sadron insisted that I rest," he complained, but with a twinkle in his eye.

His son smiled. "So you are up to dinner and some company?"

Thranduil half-turned his head to get a better look at the tray and its contents, but gave up when the movement pulled painfully at his wounds. "I am not very hungry," he replied with a dismissive wave of his fingers.

"Oh well. Then I guess I will have to eat the strawberries and cream all by myself," Legolas replied with an affected sigh, inwardly counting the seconds until his father predictably reacted.

"Strawberries and cream?!" Thranduil's eyebrows shot up. "Already?"

The prince laughed. "I think the cook grows them in a covered bed in a warm corner of the garden. I tried to find out where exactly, but he chased me away with his largest rolling pin. Ever since he found out how much you like them, he has been experimenting with different varieties of strawberry plants to find out which grow early and which grow late in the year."

Thranduil looked baffled. "I always thought he bought them from merchants from the south," he admitted, "or that maybe he had cut some sort of deal with the gardeners of Imladris and brought them in from there."

Legolas spread napkins on his father's chest and lap and held the bowls so the king could easily reach the fruit and dip the sweet berries into the cream, just like he loved to.

"Speaking of Imladris," the prince said after a moment, delighted at how much his father enjoyed the delicious treat. "There is a letter from Lord Elrond."

"Lord Elrond?" Sadron, who had turned to leave the ward for a few minutes, stopped and came back to stand at the foot of the king's bed. "Surely that cannot be the reply to my letter yet. I only sent out the messenger bird yesterday in the afternoon!"

Thranduil slightly shook his head and bit into another cream-covered strawberry before answering. "No, that letter arrived a few days before the accident. I just have not got around to opening and reading it yet. It is probably his annual begetting day letter," he speculated, already eyeing the bowl of fruit again.

"But your begetting day is not until the end of next month," Legolas mused, a slight frown on his face. "Lord Elrond's begetting day letters always arrive precisely on the day, though I do not know how he does it. Perhaps he can foresee any adversities the messenger bird might encounter or something ..."

His father smiled, but a spark of concern entered his mind. Legolas was right. Elrond was nothing if not punctual in sending his congratulatory letters.

Thranduil motioned for Legolas to set aside the food for a moment and asked him to hand him the letter from the Lord of Imladris. Sadron wondered aloud how long it might take for Lord Elrond to reply to his inquiry, or even to come to the Greenwood himself, as he had suggested. The voice of the healer, however, faded into the background as Thranduil read over and over what his old friend had written in an uncharacteristically shaky hand.

Eventually the letter slipped from his numb fingers, alerting both his son and the healer.

" _Ada_? What is it?" Legolas asked, taking his father's hand and starting to rub his cold fingers in order to ground him in the here and now.

"I do not think Lord Elrond will be able to help at this time," the king finally said in a rough, pained voice, and as he looked up, the grief displayed on his face stunned the others into silence.

" _Ada?_ " It was a tiny, fearful whisper that emerged from Legolas' lips, but there was nothing Thranduil could say to reassure him.

"Lady Celebrían sailed."


	7. Chapter 7 pt I

_**A/N: I am sorry this took so ridiculously long, but work was crazy with a capital C, and health is still iffy. And now on top of everything my laptop decided to take a week of sick leave because of a broken graphics chip. So here I am sitting at my old desk top computer, grumbling away at its non-existent internet connection. I'm going to upload this from a different computer (not mine, so this time there will be no personal replies to your reviews on the last chapter – SORRY!)**_

 _ **Anduril of Tolkien, Hawaiichick, Wenduo, Tori of Lorien, Lady Lindariel, and Lydwina Marie: Thank you so much for your reviews and your kind wishes. I hope you will like where I am taking this story. A big thank you also to everyone who reads/follows/favourited so far.**_

 _ **This chapter comes in two parts because otherwise it would have been much too long. As soon as I have a working computer again, I will upload part 2. The computer technician promised me to have my laptop repaired by Friday, so hopefully it shouldn't be too long.**_

 _ **Note: I took a few liberties with Galion's age in this chapter. It just fit my story better to make him a bit younger.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: see chapter 1. Don't sue me, I'm as broke as you, and I have to pay for the laptop repair first anyway.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 7 Part I**

"I am not discussing this again!" Thranduil stood hunched over, both hands planted on his desk, his voice dangerously low. "The festivities are going ahead as planned. I will be there. Make it happen."

The faces of the other five _ellyn_ in the room showed varying degrees of worry, annoyance, and trepidation. For weeks the Elvenking had been insisting on celebrating his begetting day with the usual fanfare – and with each passing week his physical state seemed to push these plans more and more out of reach.

While his dislocated shoulder and fractured ribs had healed completely, albeit more slowly than was normal in an elf, his back injury effectively incapacitated him. He could hardly sit, walk, or stand for any length of time. The amount of pain he was in drained him so much that mustering the energy to conceal his burn scars was an impossible task. The pain medicines made him dizzy and sick to his stomach, so he tried to avoid taking them as much as he could. Most nights he lay awake because of the pain, virtually unable to move because of cramped muscles or misfiring nerves. In short, he was ill and miserable and extremely short-tempered.

Legolas was standing quietly by the doorway, observing the shouting match between Sadron and his father which had preceded the king's ultimatum. Now, however, he decided to step in. He saw and felt keenly that his father had once again pushed himself past his limits. This needed to end now, before the king exploded or collapsed.

"Would you please excuse us for a minute?" he asked, breaking his long silence. "I would like to have a private word with the king."

It was a slight breach of protocol, sending the others from his father's study while the king was present instead of waiting for him to close the meeting. But should his father take exception to his actions, Legolas would just deal with it.

Galion, Feren, and Elros seemed more than happy to get away from this mine field, while Sadron hesitated. He, too, could see that the king was in physical distress, and he wanted to help, however exasperated he was by the headstrong monarch. For a moment the healer looked like he was going to object, but then he thought better of it. He was treading on very thin ice and needed to be careful not to overstep into outright subordination. It wasn't so much that he feared the consequences for himself, but it would set a bad example to take too many liberties just because he was friends with the royal family. So he simply inclined his head and left the study.

When everyone was gone, Legolas gave orders to the guards that they weren't to be disturbed under any circumstances. Then he sent them out of earshot and returned to his father.

The king still stood bent over his desk, looking ready to collapse. Legolas went over to him and carefully put a hand on the tense shoulder. " _Ada_?"

"Thank you for sending them out, _ion-nín_ ," Thranduil said in a voice that did not quite seem to be his own, strained and tired as it was. He hung his head, trying to breathe through the pain that burned like fire between his shoulder blades.

"Would you like to sit down for a bit?" Legolas asked, gently starting to rub the cramped muscles underneath his fingers.

"No. Sitting will only make it worse," his father replied through gritted teeth.

"Then let me try something else." With his innate agility and grace, the prince easily ducked into the narrow space between the desk and the king's body and pulled his father into an embrace. "Now just lean on me and try to relax," he instructed quietly, drawing his father close.

Thranduil was much too weary to protest. The small height difference between him and his son was just right so he didn't have to stoop or stretch, and slowly, gradually, some of the tension bled out of his muscles. He allowed himself to rest his aching head on his son's, closing his eyes and focussing on other things than the searing pain in his back. There was Legolas' calm breathing and heartbeat, the fresh scent of his hair, the soothing warmth of his son's hands on the most painful area of his back – but also the crackling fires in the braziers, the aroma of herbs and wine and the splashing of water from the various small streams and waterfalls in the palace. It was so relaxing that after a while Thranduil felt himself getting downright sleepy. Legolas seemed to feel it, too. "Let me take you to your rooms, _ada_. I can finish the meeting for you if you like."

Tempting though the offer was, Thranduil drew himself to his full height and let go of his son – and ended up regretting both, because the moment he did so the pain returned full force. "No. I will do it, and then I am going to retire to my rooms." He gave Legolas a long, intense look. "You know why I want to do this, do you not?" he enquired.

"Of course, _ada_. The People need to see that their king is there and able to take care of the matters of the kingdom," Legolas replied earnestly. He took his father's hands and squeezed them reassuringly. "But they also love their king very much and would hate to see him in constant pain. So will you please listen to Sadron and not overdo it?" he added.

Thranduil sighed. "Sadron does not want me not to overdo it – he wants me to not do it at all."

Legolas grinned. "Oh, but that is just because he knows you so well!"

His father chuckled. "All right, all right. I will do my very best." Then he turned serious. "I know that you all worry about my health. But there is nothing I can do at the moment except endure it."

Legolas inclined his head in acknowledgement, wisely refraining from reminding his father that this was not quite true. And it was a moot point anyway since the king was dead set against the option.

His father's deep voice pulled him from his wandering thoughts. "Now please call the others back in. We have a begetting day celebration to plan!"

\\*/*\\*/

Rarely had Sadron felt so at the end of his wits as he did now – and after over a millennium in the Elvenking's service, that was saying something. He knew that Thranduil could be stubborn and even downright injudicious when it came to his own health, but usually he came around to his head healer's reasoning and allowed him to help.

But not this time.

About ten days after Sadron had sent his letter to Lord Elrond, describing the condition of an anonymous patient – a necessity, should the letter fall into wrong hands – and asking for counsel and help, the reply had arrived.

" _I am afraid I find myself unable to leave Imladris for the time being,"_ it had read, _"but feel free to bring your patient to me, if they are in any condition at all to travel. I will do what I can to help them. In the meantime, you might consider the following measures ..."_ And the Lord of Imladris had described in detail any procedure or medicine that might help.

This was by no means an ideal solution, but Sadron understood and empathised. Given a little time and some circumspect arrangements, Thranduil would be able to make the journey – not comfortably and not easily, but it was possible.

When Sadron had proposed these plans to Thranduil four weeks ago, however, the Elvenking had categorically refused.

What ensued was a battle of wills over – as Sadron saw it – something that should not even be a question. To his mind, the king needed to go to Imladris, and that was that.

But the unreasonable stubbornness with which Thranduil kept turning down his admonitions and even pleas – despite obviously being in constant distress, and no sign of improvement – gave Sadron the distinct impression that there was something he didn't know. Something seemed to be eating away at the Elvenking that had nothing to do with the physical limitations and endless pain.

Besides his frustration over his friend's intransigence, however, Sadron was getting terribly worried about his health. Things were getting worse, not better. There were symptoms which made him suspect that somehow the remaining splinters had moved and were now starting to affect the spinal cord. The longer Thranduil waited, the worse it would get, possibly ending in paralysis after all.

Sadron had shared this troubling prospect with the king, but Thranduil had waved him off, over and over and over. The healer had yet to tell Legolas about the danger to his father's health, but then again, it probably wasn't necessary to tell him. Legolas felt a great deal of his father's pain through their bond and most likely had a good idea of what was going on.

This was another point of concern to Sadron. Legolas was losing energy, every day a little more. The head healer knew that at least every other night the crown prince stayed with his father, tending to his needs and trying to give him a few hours of restful sleep – probably by pouring his own strength into his father, if Sadron read the signs correctly. While that shouldn't be a problem in itself, it had become an issue because of all the other additional responsibilities the prince was taking on. Paired with the worry about his father and a nagging feeling of guilt, as Legolas had confessed to him one sleepless night, the strain was taking its toll.

Pacing outside the king's study after having been dismissed by the crown prince earlier, Sadron was racking his brains for some idea, _any idea_ , how to get through to Thranduil.

"Sadron, for goodness' sake," Elros hissed when the healer passed him for the tenth time in as many minutes. "Sit down and stop thinking!"

The head healer whirled around, looking ready to tear into the guard, but Feren stepped between the two _ellyn_. "Elros is right. We all share your worry. Any elf with eyes in their head shares your worry. But this is leading nowhere. He is our king. His word is law. And no amount of friendship with the royal family is going to change the fact that we are their subjects."

"He is going to _kill_ himself!" Sadron shouted before he could rein himself in.

Galion, who had been listening quietly so far, grew a few shades paler at the harsh words, and Feren went over to him, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. Sometimes they all forgot that the king's aide was only a century older than Legolas – and that he knew no other life than being in the service of the royal family, like his father before him.

Sadron cast an apologetic look at Galion, but before he could say anything, Feren – always the voice of reason – spoke up again. "I do not believe that. The king may be careless about his health, but he would never abandon his son. He loves him too much to do that."

With a collective sigh, the others all nodded in agreement. Yet there was one thing which, in their heated discussion, had gone completely unnoticed: the fact that Legolas was standing in the doorway, hearing every single word.


	8. Chapter 7 pt 2

_**A/N: Well, here's the second part of this rollercoaster chapter. Please don't say I didn't warn you.**_

 _ **Anduril of Tolkien, Hawaiichick, Lady Lindariel, and Lydwina Marie: Thank you for your latest reviews and your kind words. Things are looking up a bit, for which I am very grateful.**_

 _ **Note: There will be a slight hiatus after this chapter because I have a huge project to finish, but I hope to have the next chapter up within three weeks.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: see chapter 1. Don't sue me, I'm as broke as you.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 7 Part II**

The big day was off to a rocky start. Thranduil had spent a restless night, plagued by pain and the troubling knowledge that he was keeping his son awake. Legolas, who had taken to sleeping in his father's room in case he needed help during the night, didn't mind, but his guilt about seeing his proud, strong father so ill had reached new heights in the past few days.

Sadron had put his foot down and set a time limit for the king's participation in the festivities. And after almost losing his breakfast because the medicines made him so queasy, Thranduil was beginning to see the wisdom of this order. (Not that he'd ever admit anything of the sort to the healer.)

When Galion entered his private rooms to help him dress for the evening, the king was almost ready to call the entire thing off. It took everything in his power not to snap at his aide when he asked him to lift his arms to pull some intricate folds into place. Galion seemed to notice, blushing fiercely and proceeding to apologise for a full minute – the next test for the Elvenking's brittle patience.

Finally, however, it was done, and both Galion and Thranduil heaved a sigh of relief. With perfect timing, Legolas arrived to take his father to the great banquet hall. Galion was dismissed and Legolas closed the door to share a few moments of privacy with his father. "Happy begetting day, _ada_ ," the prince smiled and handed him a beautifully carved wooden box. "I hope you like it."

Curious, Thranduil thanked his son and carefully lifted the lid. When he recognised what was inside, tears of overwhelming love and gratitude sprang to his eyes. " _Ai, tithen las nín_ ," he whispered, pulling his son into his arms and dropping a tender kiss on the crown of the golden head. "You cannot –"

But Legolas interrupted him, smiling against his father's shoulder. "Well, it is not a proper gift, more like … I think … something you might like to share with me. You know, whoever needs it more at a given time …"

Thranduil loosened his grip a little, drawing back to look at the contents of the small wooden chest once more. Inside was the music box the Elvenking had crafted for Legolas when he was born. It had kept the elfling company and given him comfort through many a long night when storms raged through the forest and he was too scared to run to his parents' room, or helped him fall asleep on countless evenings after his mother's death when his father could not tell him good-night in person because matters of the kingdom kept him away.

"You have no idea how much this means to me, _ion-nín_ ," the king said hoarsely. "And I can never make up for what you have done for me these past weeks. _Le hannon._ "

 _It shouldn't have been necessary in the first place. You should never have been injured like that,_ Legolas thought, hiding the guilt in his eyes behind a soft smile.

"There is no need to thank me, _ada_. If anything, it is I who needs to say thank you. You saved my life out there, without regard for your own. _That_ is something _I_ can never repay."

" _Ai, tithen las nín_ ," Thranduil repeated, brushing his fingers along his son's cheek. "A parent's love never asks about the cost when it comes to their children's life."

Legolas blinked against the burning in his eyes. " _Le melin_ , _ada_. Happy begetting day, and many happy returns."

Then he took a shaky breath and, with a serious look at his father's currently unblemished but tired face, added: "Let me share a little strength with you. I want you to really enjoy your party today, and for more than just an hour."

"Legolas …" Thranduil started to protest but was silenced by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Please?"

The king sighed and nodded in agreement. "You know you cannot keep doing that, _ion-nín_ ," he murmured even as he felt a burst of energy.

But Legolas just smiled and squeezed his hands. "Come, _ada_. We have a magnificent party to attend!

\\*/*\\*/

The party was magnificent indeed. Virtually every elf at court and from the surrounding settlements had come to convey their best wishes to their king. Many said how happy they were to see him recovered, and Thranduil thanked them sincerely. This was, after all, precisely the point of this celebration: to show them a strong and able ruler of this kingdom.

He only faltered for a moment when a tiny _elleth_ , barely mastering the art of walking in a stately dress, reached up to him to give him flowers and he couldn't quite reach down from his impressive height to take them.

Legolas immediately recognised his predicament and stepped in. "Allow me, my lady," he said with a flourish and a smooth bow, proceeding to pick her up and lift her onto his shoulder, easily bringing her to his father's eye level.

The elfling couldn't have been happier. She giggled a little shyly, handed her flowers to the king and then flung her tiny arms around his neck. "Happy begetting day, Your Majesty!" she chirped and gave Thranduil a big kiss on his cheek.

The Elvenking laughed, a deep, rich, happy sound, and in return placed a kiss on her forehead when she pulled back a moment later.

"I thank you, my lady," he replied earnestly and smiled at his son when he set the little _elleth_ down on the ground again.

As the elfling scampered off, Thranduil put an arm around Legolas, pulling him into his side. "And thank you, too, _ion-nín_ ," he said quietly, only for the prince to hear. "Whatever would I do without you?"

\\*/*\\*/

By the end of the two hours Sadron had allotted the king for the party, it was all Thranduil could do to keep up the barest of appearances. With a small gesture to Legolas he departed from the festivities, closely followed by Galion and, a few minutes later so as not to cause alarm, Sadron. It had been agreed beforehand that Legolas would stay on until the end, no matter what, so the royal family was represented and, although no-one said so explicitly, to give the prince a carefree evening off.

When Sadron arrived in the king's quarters, he found a very concerned Galion helping Thranduil shed his elaborate robes, and the king barely able to stay on his feet. The healer kept his peace until Thranduil had dismissed his aide for the night; then he wordlessly helped the king lie down. He still didn't say a thing when he started to massage the burning muscles with a foul-smelling but quite effective warming ointment. Finally Thranduil caught his breath enough to speak. "Go ahead, say it," he ground out.

"Say what?" Sadron replied with seeming indifference.

"'I told you so.'"

"That was not what I was going to say, my lord."

"Don't you 'my lord' me!" the king snapped, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was pressing his face into a pillow in order to muffle any sounds of pain that threatened to escape.

"Very well, you stubborn Sinda. I was going to say that you have no choice left. You need to go to Imladris and seek help from Lord Elrond. Whatever happened between you and him that makes you so darn reluctant about the entire thing, you need to swallow your pride, put it aside, grovel if you must, but LET HIM HELP YOU!"

The great Elvenking suddenly seemed to deflate under the healer's hands. "I know," he mumbled. "And it is not what you think."

"And what do you think it is I :.. wait, what? Did you just say agree with me?"

In a manner much like his son used to do as an elfling, Thranduil pulled a second pillow to his chest and curled around it, the very picture of misery. "I know you are right. No matter what you usually say, I am not completely incognisant of my health. I know that I have to seek help from Lord Elrond, or else take ship to Valinor, or slowly fade in agony, for I already feel the constant pain wear away at me. And I cannot do that to Legolas, or to the kingdom, for I am not sure his _f_ _ë_ _a_ could bear the burden of being left alone to govern the realm in this growing darkness. He is strong and able, well-versed in the matters of ruling a kingdom – but he is a much gentler, much tenderer soul than I ever was or will ever be. I fear it would break him, and I would never do this to him if I can help it. So, yes. We will discuss arrangements in the morning."

Sadron had sat down on the side of Thranduil's bed during the softly spoken words, still expertly massaging painful muscles and scarred flesh. Now he stopped, resting a hand on the king's shoulder. "Thank you," he said quietly and squeezed the fingers that blindly reached out for a friendly pat on his knee.

"Go to bed and get some rest, _mellon-nín_ ," Thranduil mumbled into the pillow, already half asleep. "You'll need it."

"And why is that?" the healer smiled.

"You're coming to Imladris, too."

\\*/*\\*/

Not long after midnight, Thranduil was once more woken by unbearable pain. No change in position seemed to help, try as he might. Even worse, all the drinks he'd had at the celebration resulted in the inevitable call of nature that could only be ignored for so long. Thus, after much deliberation of what was the worse predicament, the king decided to get up.

Normally he had Legolas nearby to help him onto his feet if he needed to get out of bed during the night, but tonight he was on his own. It took some sophisticated manoeuvring, but in the end he was sitting up on the edge of his bed.

He had to just sit and breathe for a minute to get past the pain; then he carefully got to his feet. So far, so good.

It was when he took a step that everything went wrong.

Without warning, his legs gave way and he crashed to the ground, unable to correct his balance or even break his fall. And while the lower half of his body went completely numb, the upper half lit up in blinding pain.

Unlike the first time this had happened – shortly after the surgery following the accident – Thranduil did not lose consciousness. He was so dazed, though, that he neither knew what was happening nor what he was supposed to do.

Slumped in an awkward position on the floor, wedged in the corner between bed and bedside table, tangled in the sheets which he had apparently pulled down in an attempt to catch himself, he felt completely helpless, incapable of forming a single rational thought.

But when the overpowering pain receded a little, a strange sensory contradiction started to penetrate the haze of confusion: while his lower half, most of all his legs, were nearly insensate and entirely immobile, he felt a strange warmth move along his forearm where it was caught uncomfortably under his body. It took another moment for Thranduil to comprehend that the warmth was also wet, and another until his delicate sense of smell caught up to the sense of touch.

Deeply humiliated, he understood what had happened – and that he was powerless to do anything about it. Tears of rage and frustration shot into his eyes as he realised that his only choice was to call for help at some point.

Only a few minutes later he knew that his dilemma would be decided for him as he heard a commotion outside his door. Apparently the guards had heard his fall and decided to get Sadron right away, correctly assuming that his presence would be needed more than theirs. But although he knew that he needed help, and sooner rather than later, Thranduil was not yet ready to face anyone.

After a moment of what seemed to be a hurried discussion, there was a sharp knock on the door, followed by the sound of the slightly rusty hinges and steps coming into the room. "Your Majesty?" he heard Sadron's concerned voice. "What happened?"

"Leave me alone, Sadron," the king replied harshly, hoping his curt tone would buy him a few more minutes before his humiliating predicament would become common knowledge.

"My lord Thranduil? What is it? Did you fall?" Sadron's voice came closer.

"Get out!" the Elvenking barked, his temper flaring.

"But Thranduil –"

The fear of being caught in such a state, the humiliation in itself, and the sound of more people approaching in the doorway suddenly became too much for the king's already frayed nerves. In a surge of rage he pushed upwards, grabbed the first object he could reach, and flung it across the room. "I said, GET OUT!"

There was a small cry of pain, the sound of wood cracking and metal clanging – and then stunned silence.

Sadron whirled around to see Legolas go down on one knee, an ugly, freely bleeding gash on his temple. The prince, however, didn't even seem to notice the injury, instead reaching out towards the dozens of broken pieces on the floor with an expression of utter confusion, disbelief, and anguish on his blood-streaked face.

" _Ada?"_ he asked, tears in his voice, sounding very, very young.

Thranduil in turn snapped out of his daze of rage the moment he recognised his son, and a look of absolute horror at what he had done settled on his features.

" _Ada?"_ Legolas repeated, looking up and only now seeing his father in a helpless heap on the floor. "What happened?" He jumped up and pushed past Sadron who still stood petrified in the middle of the room.

The prince knelt down beside his father and instantly understood that, no matter what had occurred, the king more than anything needed space right now.

"Leave us alone," he ordered, causing the guards to withdraw immediately. Sadron hesitated. "But my prince, you are –"

"It is nothing," Legolas cut him off. "I will call you back when we are ready, but please go now." So Sadron left, worried and more shaken by the episode than he cared to admit.

Legolas didn't even turn around to check, knowing his orders would be carried out. He took a moment to reassure himself that his father wasn't outwardly hurt, then carefully slid an arm around his shoulders and helped him sit up.

Immediately Thranduil's arms went around his son. "I am sorry, Legolas! I am so sorry!" he said over and over again, unable to contain his regret and shock any longer, tears flowing freely down his face. "I did not mean to do that!"

Legolas simply held him for a while, stroking the sweat-soaked hair and trying to calm him down. Eventually, though, he asked him what had happened, his own need to get past the hurt his father's actions had caused too great to just tell him it was all right. It was not, and both of them knew that.

In halting words, Thranduil told his son what had occurred, as far as he could remember, up to the point when Legolas had entered the room. "I did not know it was you," he whispered. "I just heard _yet_ _another_ person coming in, and I was so embarrassed, and I did not want anyone else to see me, and I was so angry at myself and … I did not think. I just grabbed the nearest thing that I could reach and …"

"… and it was the music box on your bedside table," Legolas finished quietly.

Thranduil nodded against his shoulder, tightening his grip on his son. "Oh Legolas, what have I done?"

The prince sighed and kissed the crown of his father's head. He was aware that, ill-advised as Thranduil's actions had been, they had not been malicious. "Do not worry about that for now, _ada_. I hold nothing against you. Just promise, _promise_ me that you will get help now. I can see how much you are suffering. Please, go to Imladris and let Lord Elrond help you. He is the greatest healer on Arda. He will know what to doo."

Again Tranduil nodded. "I will. I will." He pulled back a little, looking at his son with renewed fear and anguish. "But will you come with me? After what I have done to you … _ai, ion-nín_ , how could I hurt you so?"

Gently Legolas wiped his father's tears away. "Of course I will come." He hugged him closer, briefly brushing his mind against his father's in order to show him the truth of his words.

Slowly the king calmed down, and eventually Legolas decided it was time to deal with the practical issues at hand. "Now do you think you could manage a bath if I help you into the tub? Or shall I fetch Sadron?" he asked kindly.

"No. Please do not call him just yet. I … I think I need a few more minutes. But I _would_ like to bathe. If you help me up, I am sure I can make it to the bathroom." However, shock and exhaustion were catching up with Thranduil, and his legs were still numb and sluggish in responding, so Legolas ended up more or less carrying his father to their private bathing chamber.

While the prince filled the tub with hot water from a huge heated vat, the king awkwardly shed his wet nightshirt, indescribable embarrassment returning at the smell. Discreetly, Legolas kept his back turned until his father had wrapped a towel around his hips, and then helped him into the large sunken tub in the middle of the room.

"I will leave you to it for a moment, _ada_ , if that is all right with you. I will be just over in your bedroom cleaning up a bit. Please call me if you need help or if you do not feel well," the prince said when the king was settled and set up with bathing utensils.

Thranduil stopped him, though. "Wait a minute, please, Legolas. Come here." He gestured for his son to bend down so he could reach his face, then wet a fresh washcloth and gently cleaned the blood from Legolas' temple. "Please let Sadron have a look at it," he asked quietly. But instead of letting his son go to do so, his fingers hovered over the wound. "I am so sorry," he repeated, shuddering at the thought of what he had done.

Legolas caught his hand and kissed his fingers. "You did not know it was I. I know you did not mean to hurt me. It will heal." He paused, waiting until he had his father's full attention, before adding: " _We_ will heal. I am sure of it."

\\*/*\\*/

While Thranduil was in the bath, Legolas moved about the bedroom, tidying and cleaning, changing the sheets and rekindling the fire. Then he started to pick up the pieces of the broken music box. Tears burnt in his eyes as he carefully, reverently gathered them one by one, wrapping them in a soft cloth. It was just an object, he knew that, but there were so many memories tied to the little thing – for himself _and_ for his father. His heart hurt at the thought of how the king must feel, knowing he had senselessly destroyed something he had so lovingly built for his child even before the prince was born.

But his father had built it with his own hands – surely he could repair it? In any case Legolas would take the broken pieces to Imladris. Maybe there they would find a way to mend the damage.

When he had safely stowed away the bundle, he took a deep breath, wiped his eyes and went back to look after the king. Thranduil sat in the bath, looking forlorn. _"Ada?"_ Legolas asked, the ever-present worry returning with full force. "Do you need a hand?"

"Yes, please," the proud king asked in a small voice. "I cannot reach up to wash my hair."

Had he been able to turn around, he would have been surprised to see his son smile. "Of course, _ada_." The prince took off his boots, pushed his leggings up to his knees and lowered himself on the edge of the tub behind his father, feet dangling in the warm water. "Do you remember how I loved washing your hair when I was little?" he asked while carefully massaging soap into the blond curtain of hair. "I always thought it was like washing golden silk."

A sad smile crossed Thranduil's features. "And I loved having my hair washed by you. You were so fascinated and focussed, so earnest and diligent, as if you were handling something exceedingly precious. It was most endearing."

"Oh, but I was!" Legolas replied.

"You were what?" The king sounded bemused.

"Handling something exceedingly precious."

"What, my hair?"

"No. You – my _ada_."

Tears returned to the king's eyes. " _Ai, ion-nín_ ," he sighed, but it came out more like a sob. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Legolas didn't reply right away. He finished rinsing Thranduil's hair, helped him out of the bath, helped him dry off and dress and back to bed. He plumped his pillows and tucked him in, and finally he settled down next to his father, carefully wrapping him in a warm embrace.

"Legolas?" Thranduil asked, and the prince thought he had never heard his father sound so insecure.

He scooted even closer and caught his father's hand in his. "Go to sleep, _ada_. Be at ease. I forgive you."


	9. Chapter 8 pt I

**_A/N: Dear readers, thank you for your patience and all your follows, favourites, reviews etc. I will reply to you individually over the next few days, but for now I will leave you with a new chapter. Half-chapter, actually. Before you bombard me with AU/non-canon complaints, please remember that this is a tie-in with my other stories, "Home Truths" and "Let me show you that I care". And now: ENJOY!  
_**

 ** _Usual disclaimer applies._**

 **Chapter 8 pt. I**

It was a dreary day at Imladris, even though a bright sun was shining down on the Hidden Valley from a clear blue sky. The Last Homely House lay white and quiet, as quiet as its lord had become over the past months.

Erestor breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Glorfindel drag the twins to the training grounds to burn off some of their angry energy that was becoming harder and harder to contain. Elrond, it seemed, was unable – or unwilling? To stop them, only beseeching them – demanding, really – to return unharmed from their revenge sprees to the orc-infested forests beyond the borders of Imladris. It was almost like he was living by proxy as far as his sons' rage was concerned.

But today was one of the more difficult days, Erestor had realised the moment he had laid eyes on Elrond that morning. After a restless night – both Erestor and Glorfindel had heard the elf lord toss and turn before giving up on sleep altogether way before dawn – their best friend was even quieter than usual. By some strange paradoxical reaction, this left his sons in an even more belligerent mood than usual. In order to keep them at home, but under control, the two seneschals had therefore come up with a plan to keep them occupied until dinner, which involved tiring them out on the training grounds.

Satisfied that Glorfindel had the situation in hand, Erestor mentally prepared himself to tackle the other big task of the day.

"You missed breakfast," he observed quietly as he entered Elrond's study, taking in the pale face and tired eyes of his old friend.

"I was not very hungry," the Lord of Imladris replied in a seemingly off-hand fashion, which Erestor had long since learned to see through.

"You also missed a good night's sleep," the seneschal continued, undeterred by Elrond's stubborn focus on his paperwork.

"I was not –" With a frustrated sigh, Elrond dropped the letter he was holding. He would not stoop so low as to outright lie to his friend. "I could not sleep. I felt ... restless."

 _Restless_ , as Erestor well knew, was only a weak description of what Elrond felt when he had fragments of visions that he could not make sense of.

"Is there anything in particular troubling you, _mellon-nín_?" Erestor stepped closer, relocated a pile of books and sat down on the newly cleared space on the desk.

Elrond shook his head almost angrily. "There is something amiss in the Greenwood, but I cannot make head nor tail of the flashes of visions I keep having. I can never take hold of or pursue them; they are practically gone before I realise what they are about. It is most frustrating."

"Forgive me for asking, but has this got anything to do with the letters you received from Lord Sadron over the past weeks?" Erestor knew the answer even before he asked the question, but he needed to draw Elrond out of his own head.

And he succeeded. With a little half-snort Elrond looked up at him. "Come now, Erestor. Give me a little credit. You know that the visions started well before the first of the letters arrived. Granted, they have done nothing to reassure me, but they have merely been confirmation that something is going on there."

He sat back and sighed again. "I wish I had travelled there when Sadron asked me to."

 _Ah. Now they were getting somewhere._ "And why did you not?" Erestor asked, blunt in words but gentle in tone.

Elrond's gaze travelled out the window towards the horizon, and it was a long few moments before he answered. I dare not take myself away from here," he admitted at long last. "I dare not leave the valley unprotected, and I dare not leave the protection of the valley." He paused for a beat before adding, almost inaudibly: "I do not trust myself to do so."

Erestor reached out and covered Elrond's hand with his own in a comforting gesture. " _Ai, mellon-nín_ , it is a heavy burden you carry," he said softly. "And I wish I could ease your pain."

Elrond turned his hand palm-up and curled his fingers around his friend's wrist. "Thank you for being here," he whispered.

They sat like this for a while, hands clasped, silently giving and taking comfort. Just as Erestor was about to suggest that Elrond go to his room and rest for a while, there was a sharp knock on the door.

Both _ellyn_ sighed, broke contact and sat up. „Come," Elrond called while Erestor took his usual place beside the elf lord's shoulder.

A guard entered, extended the customary greeting, and upon Elrond's sign to speak, reported: "My lord Elrond, the party from the Greenwood is approaching, about a day's ride out. They are riding under King Thranduil's banner, my lord."

Elrond's eyes narrowed at this particular piece of news, and the troubling feeling that had plagued him for weeks redoubled. His decision made in a split second, he rose to his feet. "Summon Lord Glorfindel and my personal guard. Have provisions packed for two days. I will ride to meet them. We leave within the hour."

\\*/*\\*/

It had been a long while since Glorfindel had last seen his friend so determined, so driven. At least it felt like a long time, although in reality it had not been two years yet. Those had been the first days after Lady Celebrían's rescue, when hope was still strong and Elrond had focused all his body, mind, and soul on healing her. Those had been the days before everything had turned from bad to worse, ending in Celebrían sailing and Elrond almost fading.

One part of Glorfindel was glad to see the old passion in his friend return; another part of him was afraid that it might be more despair than passion.

Whatever it was, it made Elrond drive his horse so hard that the rest of the guard had trouble keeping up with them.

Despite his worries about Elrond, Glorfindel didn't question their need for haste. He had learned millennia ago not to doubt Elrond's visions or instincts. His foresight was at times incomplete, but it was never wrong.*

They had ridden hard for most of the day and should be meeting the Greenwood party any minute now. And indeed, Elrond let up in speed as the Imladris sentries along the way signalled to them that they were close.

The sight that greeted them as they rounded the next bend in the valley road, however, was thoroughly unexpected.

Elrond was off his horse almost even before it came to a complete standstill and Glorfindel inwardly smiled at how people always seemed to underestimate the physical skills and agility of the Lord of Imladris. It was easy to be fooled by kind-as-summer Elrond in his stately robes and aura of wisdom and dignity. The _ellon_ who was now striding towards the small group huddled in a secluded spot between the rocks, however, was the sinewy erstwhile commander of Gil-Galad's army.

All levity fled from his mind, though, as he caught a glimpse of the drama that was unfolding before his eyes. He turned his horse around and addressed the Imladris guard in a stern tone. "Stay back and secure the perimeter. Find a sentry and send word to Erestor to prepare the family guest rooms. Aside from that, do not approach anyone but me. And whatever you see and hear around here: you saw and heard _nothing_."

 _*_ _Phrase quoted and adapted from the TV show **Person of Interest** , pilot episode, if I'm not mistaken. Man, do I miss that show ... _

_**to be continued ...**_


	10. Chapter 8 pt II

_**A/N: I know it's been ages. Well, a month. To-may-to, to-mah-to. First of all, thank you for sticking with this story despite the slow updates, and for reviewing/following/favouriting.**_

 _ **A few notes on the new chapter (technically, the second part of Chapter 8)**_

 _ **\- Thranduil's and Elrond's friendship is purely my headcanon. To be fair, there is probably not much evidence to the contrary, either, but my version is definitely pure conjecture.**_

 _ **\- For the medical stuff I've mostly relied on my own experience. Still, don't try it at home unless you've spoken to a medical professional.**_

 _ **\- Not much action, but it all serves a purpose. You'll see.**_

 _ **Also, I've been asked about the timeline of this story, especially as it relates to my other piece "Home Truths".**_ _ **This one plays out just under two years after Celebrían's rescue. I imagine it was about a year before she decided to sail, around a month before she actually did, and a period of three to four months for Elrond's near-fading and recovery. In my mind, Elrond wrote the letter to Thranduil after Celeborn and Galadriel left for Lothlorien with Arwen in "Home Truths", so we're at around 17-18 months after Celebrían's rescue. Add in the months of Thranduil's stubborn refusal to travel to Imladris and we're at just under two years ... roughly.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I'm neither Tolkien nor Peter Jackson, I'm just playing in their sandbox.**_

 **Chapter 8 pt. II**

It would always be beyond Elrond why people – men, elves, dwarves, and halflings alike – were so terrified of bleeding injuries. Dangerous though they could be, their treatment was fairly straightforward: find the source, patch it up, keep it clean, done. To Elrond, the truly scary wounds were those you couldn't discern at first glance. Internal injuries, for example, when one moment the patient appeared to be relatively stable and was dead only minutes later. Or poison, which showed its effects but was hard to treat or counteract. Or illnesses of the mind. Or, as in the case at hand, conditions where even an Elven body was so out of balance that it started waging war against itself.

"Welcome to the valley of Imladris, travellers from the Greenwood. I am Lord Elrond. You seem in need of assistance?"

The two guards – Feren and Elros, if memory served – stepped aside in visible relief after returning the elf lord's greeting, clearing the path for him to approach their charge.

"Lord Elrond! You are a heaven-sent!", Sadron called out, rising from his kneeling position by his patient's side and rushing to meet him. "We are in dire need of help greater than what I can provide!"

The Greenwood healer greeted his former teacher in customary fashion before launching into a summary of the situation: "His system is completely overtaxed. The pain has been so bad, I had to keep the king sleeping every other day during our journey here. He has not eaten in almost a week because the sleeping medicines made him so nauseated, and he refuses to drink more than the bare minimum, so his muscles are cramping up even more. He insisted on riding on his own for the last stretch of the journey, but his horse misstepped on the rocks, and apparently his spine was jolted so hard that either a nerve got pinched or the splinters in the wound moved. He just slipped off his horse onto the ground, and he has been as you see him now for nearly an hour."

Both healers shot another look at the picture of misery that the proud Elvenking presented at this moment: on his knees, curled in on himself, his forehead pressed into the hard ground, visibly trembling in pain, while his son knelt next to him, helplessly running his fingers through his father's sweat-soaked hair in an effort to calm him down even a little. Sadron drew in a shaky breath and continued: "I do not know how to help him. He is in so much pain, I doubt he even understands what I am saying. Legolas has been trying to reach him through their bond, but it seems Thranduil shut him out."

The explanations were given in a quiet voice so they wouldn't be overheard, but Sadron's tone left no doubt about the direness of the situation. "Please, Lord Elrond," he finished, despair written all over his face. "Please, help him!"

Elrond gave a curt nod and briefly put his hand on the other healer's shoulder in reassurance. "I will do what I can." And finally the Lord of Imladris approached the two _ellyn_ on the ground.

"Lord Elrond! Thank goodness!" Legolas choked out when he looked up and recognised the elf lord. He bent down so his lips were close to his father's ear and repeated in a gentle voice: "Did you hear that, _ada_? Lord Elrond is here. He will help you."

But the only response he got was Thranduil's ragged breathing, painfully punctuated with a soft whimper on every other shallow exhale.

Elrond swallowed hard at the pitiful sight before him. He had known Legolas from birth, and Thranduil for almost as long as he could remember. They had stood side by side through many battles of war and life. When his brother Elros died, Thranduil had been there, a steadfast presence in the storm. When the Greenwood queen died, fading after her twin sister was brutally slain by orcs, Elrond had been the only one whom Thranduil allowed to see his grief and anger.

And until about a century ago, the two families had been regular visitors in each other's homes spending the most wonderful times together and seeing their children grow up to be as great friends as their fathers.

Then, with no apparent reason, things had started to grow distant between them after the Greenwood monarchs' last visit to Imladris, when Legolas had just been on the cusp of adolescence. Thranduil started to politely decline Elrond's invitations and offered none of his own any longer.

When the troubling visions started a few months ago, and shortly after that Sadron's letters concerning an anonymous patient arrived, Elrond immediately suspected that this was somehow about Thranduil. Seeing the confirmation of his suspicions literally before his eyes was hard to take in nonetheless.

With a deep breath Elrond strode forward and knelt down next to the Elvenking, opposite Legolas. "Thranduil?" he asked in a firm but low voice so as not to startle the distressed _ellon_. "It is I, Elrond. Sadron told me what happened. I will try to help you, but in order to do that, I need to examine you. Will you let me do that?"

He ran his right hand along the king's forearm that was tucked into the small space between his head, chest, and knees, until he found his friend's hand. With gentle pressure he wrapped his fingers around the clammy, cramped digits and rubbed his thumb over the too-prominent knuckles in order to elicit a reaction.

After a moment, the fingers beneath his own uncurled a little and moved to return the pressure, however weakly. A barely audible, slightly slurred word made it past the Elvenking's lips. _"Please!"_

Elrond's heart clenched in his chest at the quiet plea. Without breaking contact he straightened a little, satisfied to see that the guards had already created some privacy by setting up a makeshift screen of tent poles and canvas. "Start a fire. Boil some water. Rest a little. This might take a while," he called out to – Galion, was it? – who was watching anxiously from a distance.

Then he turned back to his patient, for that was what his old friend had to be for now if Elrond was to help him. After feeling the racing pulse and the irregular, much-too-fast, much-too-shallow breaths, he went about examining Thranduil's back. Studiously ignoring the scarred side of the king's face, which Elrond knew only to be visible due to the enormous amount of pain he was in, he slid one hand under Thranduil's forehead. "Try to relax a little," he instructed. "Let me do all the work." Cradling the head carefully without lifting it too far off the ground, he gently turned and it left and right, keeping a close eye on the reactions in Thranduil's body.

Then the process was repeated, with Legolas moving his father's head and Elrond, his hands sliding under the king's loose-fitting tunic, intently following the movements of the cramped muscles around his neck and shoulders.

With the experience of thousands of years as a healer, Elrond's skilful fingers traced vertebrae and muscles down the spine and up again until he was certain that he had found the immediate cause of the king's agony. "Fold a blanket in half lengthwise and roll it up very tightly," he told Legolas, who complied instantly, glad that he finally had something to do.

"What are you going to do?" Sadron asked as Legolas hurried off.

"The blanket roll goes under his breastbone to correct the position of the vertebrae by creating some pressure on the ribs. Then I am going to locate the point where the worst spasm originates and force the contracting muscle into relaxing by exerting counter pressure," Elrond explained patiently, as much for Thranduil's benefit as for Sadron's. "It will not remove the cause of the problem, but it will bring you a fair amount of relief, _mellon-nín_ ," he then said to Thranduil, all the while keeping a comforting hand on the king's rigid neck.

A tiny nod indicated that Thranduil had heard Elrond, Sadron noted, and that was a whole lot more of a response than he or Legolas had got out of the Elvenking over the past hour. Maybe he had indeed been wrong in his assumptions concerning the perceived rift between the two ancient elf lords, as Thranduil had suggested that fateful night.

He didn't have much time to dwell on these thoughts, however, for now Legolas returned with the rolled-up blanket.

"Very good," Elrond praised. "Now, Thranduil, your son and I will lift your upper body a small distance, while Sadron slides this blanket roll underneath, aligning it with your breastbone. It will work best if you relax as much as you can. You might feel some vertebrae or cartilage moving. That is precisely what we want, so do not be alarmed."

Thranduil listened intently to his old friend's deep, soothing voice, trying to take in the meaning of the words despite the overwhelming pain. He struggled to slow his breathing, but it was hard. Suddenly the hand on his neck moved down to the centre of the pain between his shoulder blades, and another hand mirrored its position on his chest. They were not the slender, muscular hands of his son, nor the smooth, nimble hands of his head healer, but the strong-yet-gentle, battle-worn-yet-sensitive hands he'd known for most of his life – the hands that had brought him comfort and healing even from the most devastating wounds.

"Try to breathe against my hands," Elrond instructed. "Deep, steady breaths."

And indeed: the hands on his chest and back gave Thranduil a sense of position and direction in his fog of agony. With every exhale, he felt his heart slow down a fraction from its frantic racing and his chest felt a little less tight.

After a few moments, Legolas' arm slipped underneath his shoulders and lifted his upper body a few inches. The blanket roll was slid under his chest; then he was lowered back down.

He noticed exactly the second when the full weight of his torso came to rest on his breastbone. There was a satisfying crunch of cartilage in his back; pinched nerves were released, and a liberating lessening of pain followed.

A sob slipped from Thranduil's lips and tears of relief ran down his face.

"And now for the muscle spasm," Elrond said, a smile in his soft voice. Again his right hand slid towards the injury while his left hand rested, lightly and soothingly, on Thranduil's shoulder. He briefly traced the cramped muscle to find the precise spot and then forcefully pressed two fingers into the tightest knot.

There was a short flare of pain that made Thranduil gasp, and then blessed relief as the spasming gradually stopped, the muscle became soft and pliable again, and wonderful warmth spread across his back.

"Thank you," he whispered when Elrond eased the pressure and transitioned into a light massage, and if the healer had not been so close, he would not have heard.

"I am glad it has helped a bit", Elrond replied kindly before turning to Legolas, who was staring at them with wide, unbelieving eyes. "My prince, could you go and see whether there is already some hot water, please? If so, wet a towel in it and bring it here." Legolas nodded and hurried off, eager to help.

"Sadron," the Lord of Imladris then continued, "would you please set up a cot for the king? I would like him to rest some more to give his body the chance to get used to the corrections. Also, he needs to take in water, and maybe a little light nourishment if possible. Nevertheless, I would like us to ride for Imladris as soon as possible, even through the night. The king needs more care and treatment than I can provide here."

"Of course, Lord Elrond. I will relay your instructions to our party right away," Sadron agreed, his relief and gratitude plain to see and hear.

As Sadron left, Legolas returned with the hot, wet towel, which Elrond placed on Thranduil's back, putting crushed athelas leaves on it before folding it over and finally covering the king with a warm blanket.

"Thank you so much, Lord Elrond," the young warrior said, bowing respectfully before the ancient healer.

"It has been my privilege, my prince," Elrond replied, a genuine smile crossing his careworn features.

He then briefly repeated what he had arranged with Sadron before leaving father and son for a few minutes to go and speak with Glorfindel.

When Elrond returned he was pleased to find Thranduil already resting comfortably on the cot, still on his stomach so as not to dislodge the athelas compress on his back, but sipping water through a straw. The entire Greenwood party looked tired but considerably less tense and worried, and all of them uttered words of thanks as he passed.

Kneeling beside the cot to look after his patient, Elrond noted with satisfaction that the sickly pallor had disappeared and some small amount of colour had returned to Thranduil's haggard face. He was breathing easily and his heart beat at a normal rate. "How do you feel, _mellon-nín_?" he asked the Elvenking after releasing his wrist from counting his pulse.

"Much better. _Hannon le._ I cannot thank you enough for what you did," Thranduil replied, his voice already regaining some of its usual strength. "I do not know what we would have done if you had not arrived when you did." He paused, searching Elrond's face. "Do not think I take it for granted that you came personally, especially given the circumstances."

Elrond inclined his head almost imperceptibly to indicate that he understood what Thranduil meant, but the Elvenking was not quite finished. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Elrond's, squeezing lightly and holding on. "I am so sorry for your loss, _mellon-nín_ ," he said earnestly. "And I am deeply sorry for not being there for you when you needed me most."

 _ **A/N2: To be continued, hopefully soon. (Hey, I'm curious to see how this plays out, too – and I am the one WRITING the story!) Reviews are chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream!**_


	11. Chapter 9

_**A/N: Yes, that's right – an update, a long one, and after only two weeks! Thank you, all of my lovely readers, for your kind reviews, as well as for following and favouriting this story. Thanks especially to the guest reviewers to whom I cannot reply directly.**_

 _ **Not much action in this chapter, but a lot of h/c, bromance, fluff ... well, the usual, I guess.**_

 _ **The next chapter might not be up before the end of August, because I'll be on vacation abroad, without my laptop. The good news is: I'll have plenty of time to write.**_

 _ **Warnings: none.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I don't own anything except six DVDs and loads of imagination.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 9**

They reached the Last Homely House in the small hours of the morning, having ridden through the night. Faithful Erestor, being the night owl that he was, had stayed up once he received word from the sentries that the entire party was on their way and drawing near. He had convinced the twins – yes, convinced ... "forced" was such an ugly word! – to prepare the healing wards to their father's specifications and standards, which had kept them busy late into the evening. He himself had put the finishing touches on the guest rooms of the family wing where the Lothlórien relatives usually stayed when visiting.

Now he stood on a balcony overlooking the bridge over the Bruinen, drinking in the aromas of early morning while watching out for the returning riders.

It was only a mild surprise to see two of the Greenwood's royal guard dismount on the far side of the bridge and carry a stretcher across which had heretofore been fastened between their horses. As the bridge was purposefully built too narrow for two horses to walk side by side – a simple but effective security measure – it was a familiar sight to see a stretcher being carried over in this manner.

The only real surprise to the seneschal was the identity of the occupant of said stretcher.

By the time Erestor reached the courtyard, the Greenwood and Imladris riders had dismounted and Elrond was conferring quietly with Thranduil. Feren and Elros, who were carrying the stretcher, nodded their greeting to Lord Elrond's Chief Advisor, while Legolas and Galion extended the customary Elven greeting.

It was the first time Erestor saw the Elvenking's burn scars in their unconcealed severity, and he had to push aside not only shock but also vivid mental images of how they had come to pass. Thanks to millennia in the diplomatic service, the only outward sign of his being affected by the sight was a slight widening of his black eyes. Briefly considering the required protocol, Erestor stepped forward and gave the greeting of peace to the royal visitor. "King Thranduil, it is an honour to welcome you and your company to the Last Homely House – although, if you allow me to say so, I wish it was under better circumstances," he said earnestly.

"My lord Erestor, I thank you for your kind welcome. I apologise for the undignified manner of my greeting," Thranduil replied with a vague wave of his hand at himself and the stretcher.

"There is nothing undignified about injury or illness, Your Majesty," Erestor countered gently, casting a meaningful side glance at Elrond that didn't go unnoticed by either of the ancient elf lords.

"That is very kind of you, Lord Erestor. I am glad to be here, though I, too, wish the circumstances were different. And I apologise for being such an inconvenience even upon my arrival. As you might recall, I usually reserve that for later on in my visits," Thranduil quipped, eager to redirect the scrutiny of everyone present to something other than his predicament.

Erestor chuckled, as did Elrond, and even the grim Greenwood party found themselves smiling in relief at the dry wit of their king that had been so painfully absent over the past few weeks.

But the humour was short-lived as Thranduil winced in pain when laughing pulled at the wrong muscles.

"Erestor, our guests have had a very long journey. I am sure they would be glad to be shown to their quarters," Elrond announced on behalf of his patient.

"But of course. I have taken the liberty of preparing the guest rooms in the family wing rather than the usual visitors' quarters, since they are closer to the halls of healing," Erestor explained, already leading the way.

"Excellent, Erestor. Thank you. If the king and prince have no objections, we would set you up in the rooms usually used by Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. They are by far the largest and most comfortable in the wing. And unless you have other preferences, Lord Sadron, Lord Galion, Captain Feren, and Captain Elros may have their choice of any of the other guest rooms," Elrond suggested, walking beside Thranduil's stretcher and addressing him rather than the _ellyn_ in question, as protocol dictated.

"That is well. Although I would give a rather large chest of gold to see Galadriel's face when she learns that I slept in her bed," Thranduil smirked.

Elrond couldn't help but chuckle again. The "frienmity" between the Lady of the Golden Wood and the King of the Greenwood (as Celeborn had once aptly dubbed the somewhat tense relationship between his wife and his cousin) was the stuff of legend. "And I am sure you will find an appropriate opportunity to personally inform her of the fact, _mellon-nín_ ," he remarked drily.

Presently they reached the room in question, and Thranduil asked to be helped into one of the armchairs. Now seated face to face with his companions, he looked at them one by one as he spoke. "I thank you for your patient and considerate service in bringing me here, and indeed during those past months. Words are a highly inadequate means to express my gratitude to all of you. Captain Feren, Captain Elros, I wish for you to regard your time here as vacation time as much as possible. My only request is that you take care of my son as necessary and make sure that he enjoys himself as well," the king said with a side glance at Legolas and a twinkle in his eye.

The guards smiled, promised to do their best in that regard, and were then sent to their more than well-deserved rest.

"Galion, I believe you have never been to Imladris before?" Thranduil now addressed his faithful aide.

"No, I have not, Your Majesty," the young elf replied, trying hard not to stare too much around the airy, spacious, artistically luxurious room, the likes of which he had never seen before.

"Then I would request of Lord Erestor to have you shown around tomorrow – well, later today. But now you, too, should have your rest," the king said with a meaningful look at the Imladris seneschal, who understood at once.

"Come, Lord Galion –" Erestor started, but the royal aide interrupted him shyly.

"Just 'Galion', please." And Thranduil smiled, for although the young elf had every right to the title, he abhorred it.

"Very well, Galion. I will show you to your quarters." And off they went, leaving only the two healers with the Greenwood royals.

"If you do not mind, Lord Sadron, I would request that you give me a more detailed report on our patient so I can start reading up on things, if necessary, and begin to plan a course of treatment."

It was clear that Thranduil wanted a few minutes of privacy with his son, and Legolas was in dire need of some paternal comfort after these last harrowing weeks and months. So the healers left, and after the door had closed, silence settled over the room.

Legolas stood a few feet away from this father's chair, looking uncertain. What was going to happen now? What was he supposed to do? What was expected of him?

Reading all of these questions in his son's eyes, Thranduil's tired features softened in compassion for the burden on his only child's shoulders. "Legolas?" He reached out his hand, and immediately his son was by his side.

"Yes, _adar_? Is there anything you need?" Legolas asked anxiously.

"Nothing except for a few minutes alone with you, _ion-nín._ We have hardly had any privacy over the last weeks on the road," the king smiled, motioning for Legolas to take a seat.

The young prince was happy to comply and sat down on the floor where he stood, leaning slightly against his father's legs and looking up at him expectantly.

Thranduil put his right hand on Legolas' head, a gesture of affection and reassurance. "Thank you for everything you have done in getting me safely to Imladris. I know it has not been an easy journey," he said softly.

Legolas shook his head. "I was not the one in agonising pain all the time," he tried to dismiss his father's praise, which he somehow felt was undeserved.

"I beg to differ," Thranduil interrupted him drily before his voice softened again. "I was not so ... _out of it_ that I do not realise how much of my pain you felt, and how often you infused me with your own strength just to keep me going another day. Looking at you now, I fear that you may have overtaxed yourself." Deep concern clouded the king's features at these last words.

The prince reached for his father's other hand and squeezed it affectionately. "I am only tired, _adar._ It is nothing that a few decent meals and a good night's sleep or two cannot cure," Legolas reassured him.

His fatherly instinct told Thranduil that this was probably an incomplete truth, but he decided to let it go. They were indeed both very tired and in need of rest and nourishment. "Then I would ask you to go to bed and sleep, _ion-nín_ ," he replied tenderly. "I am sure Elrond has already arranged for someone to keep watch over me tonight."

For a brief moment Legolas looked as though he was going to protest, but then he just dropped his weary head on his father's knee as he had often done when he was much younger. "I do not want to be parted from you, _ada_ ," he murmured, sounding strangely desolate.

"Oh my little leaf," Thranduil sighed, running gentle fingers through his son's hair. He thought he felt a few hot tears soak through his leggings, but he couldn't be sure. Sensation in his legs had been a very unreliable thing of late. And anyway, Legolas _needed_ to release some of the stress and sorrow that he had never been meant to bear ... not like this.

Thus they sat for a little while, taking comfort in each other's presence. Finally Legolas lifted his head, took a deep breath and rose to his feet.

"I will do as you ask, but please do not send me away before I had the chance to reassure myself that you have everything you need," he said quietly, eyes pleading with his father not to be dismissed just yet.

Thranduil smiled warmly. "Very well. Then you had best go and fetch Sadron and Lord Elrond. I think we are both in need of their assistance in some fashion."

Legolas nodded. He knew that this was his father's final word on the matter, and he also knew that his father was right. The king needed more assistance than Legolas could give him. He took a step towards the door but then thought better of it. There was one more thing he needed to do before the healers returned. He turned back to his father, stooped to gently gather him into his arms, and drew him as close as he dared. He waited until he felt his father return the embrace, and said softly: " _Le melin, ada. Le melin._ "

\\*/*\\*/

Legolas woke to a setting sun, of which day, he could not tell. He had fallen into a deep, exhausted, dreamless sleep as soon as his head had touched the heavenly soft pillow. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and why. Stifling his first impulse to throw on yesterday's clothes and run to look after his father, he forced himself to bathe and dress properly. Lord Elrond would be less than impressed if he entered the halls of healing – for this was where Legolas supposed his father was – dirty, unkempt, and discomposed.

He was just fastening his braids with the silver leaf-shaped clasp when there was a cautious knock on his door. "Come," he called, rising to meet his visitor.

"Sadron!" he exclaimed in surprise when the Greenwood healer entered the room. "Is anything the matter with my father?"

"Peace, my prince," Sadron smiled. "Your father sent me to look in on you. He was getting worried that you might not be well because he heard no sound of you all day."

Legolas stared at him with a blank look. "Why would he expect to hear me from another building?" he asked, confusion written all over his face.

"Why would he be in another building?" Sadron replied, equally confused.

"Well, the halls of healing ..." Legolas started, and Sadron laughed.

"Oh, I see. No, he is not in the halls of healing. He is resting next door in his room."

"But why–?" The prince still did not seem to understand, so Sadron elaborated:

"Lord Elrond examined your father again this morning and decided he was too much weakened to withstand the kind of surgery that will need to be performed. It would put him at an unnecessary risk. So after some deliberation we decided that we would like to give the king three days of rest, nourishment, and strengthening medicines. This also allows us time to plan out the operation and read up on any eventualities."

To Sadron's surprise, Legolas looked crestfallen. "But this means three more days of pain for my father! Will that not drain him of more strength than any food and rest could give him?" he argued, desperation in his voice.

The Greenwood healer stepped closer and put both hands on the young elf's shoulders. "No, my prince. I can promise you that your father will not be in pain as he was before. Lord Elrond has abilities and means at his disposal that I could never dream of."

And indeed, when Legolas entered his father's room, he found him at ease and sitting up in a comfortable armchair by the window, with the Lord of Imladris keeping him company.

"Good evening, _adar_. And good evening, Lord Elrond," Legolas greeted the two old friends in Elven fashion. "I apologise for sleeping all day. I had not meant to."

"Peace, Legolas. I myself did not wake up until very late in the morning," he king smiled, and only now the prince realised that his father's face looked better than the previous day, and of course much better than all the weeks on the road – a little less scarred, and the blind eye a little less milky.

"Both of you needed the sleep," Lord Elrond remarked kindly, "and both of you seem to be feeling better for it."

Father and son inclined their heads in acknowledgement, and Lord Elrond smiled. "I am glad. Now, my prince, unlike your father you have not yet had anything to eat today. As it is almost time for dinner, would you like to join my sons for the meal? I am sure they would be delighted at the company."

If Legolas had been fully awake, he would have noticed that Lord Elrond had said _my sons_ rather than _my children_. As it was – and although Thranduil's eyes narrowed slightly at the phrasing – Legolas' mind was otherwise occupied. "That is very tempting, my lord Elrond, but I do not want my father to have to take his evening meal all alone," he replied hesitantly.

"Oh, there is no need to worry about that," the Lord of Imladris reassured him. "I will keep your father company. We have a lot of catching up to do, as do you and my sons, I am sure."

"Is that all right with you, _adar_?" Legolas asked, still torn between the desire to reunite with his friends and the need to be close to his father at all times.

"I insist," Thranduil replied with an encouraging smile.

"Then I thank you both and wish you an enjoyable mealtime. I will be back as soon as I can," Legolas said, bowing slightly and turning to go.

"No need to hurry!" his father called after him before the door closed. Then Thranduil cast a searching gaze at his old friend's grief-lined face. "Elrond?" he asked quietly, gently. "Where is Arwen?"

\\*/*\\*/

Standing in the doorway of what had been the private dining room of the Peredhil family for as long as he could remember, Legolas blinked in confusion. There was food all right, and lots of it, but mostly in its natural, unprocessed state. And it wasn't in bowls and on platters but rather on shelves, in tubs and sacks.

"Lord Erestor?" he asked, bewildered, as he looked around for some clue of what was going on and found the Chief Advisor approaching him in the hallway.

Erestor came to stand next to Legolas, casting a cursory glance at the newly remodelled storage room, and sighed. "I am afraid you will find a great many things changed here, my prince," he said quietly.

Legolas looked at him – studied him, really – and a painful truth which he had been unconsciously avoiding so far started to sink in. This was a house in mourning.

"I am sorry," he replied, a shadow falling over his fair face.

The Chief Advisor put an arm around his shoulders and discreetly steered him in a different direction. "Lord Elrond remembered that he did not tell you where to meet his sons, so he asked me to find you and take you to the new dining room," he explained.

The prince stopped in mid-stride, suddenly noticing the odd choice of words. "His _sons_? Not Arwen?"

Erestor pressed his lips into a thin line. Of course, the Greenwood prince could not know. He was almost sure that Elrond had not written anything about this particular turn of events in his recent letters to Thranduil. "Lady Arwen is presently staying with Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn," he replied in as neutral a tone as he could muster.

"Why?" The question was out before Legolas could stop himself.

There were a dozen undiplomatic answers on the tip of Erestor's tongue. He managed to swallow them, but neither could he bring himself to feed the diplomatic response to Legolas, who was like a brother to the three Peredhil children. "I do not pretend to understand all the reasons for Lady Arwen's decision," he replied after a beat. "But I do know that she suffered immensely from the loss of her mother, and that she called upon Lady Galadriel's and Lord Celeborn's help to heal, which she felt she could not do here, where each nook and cranny reminded her of Lady Celebrían."

Legolas tried to digest Erestor's words, but the amount of emotion hidden behind the carefully phrased statement was overwhelming. He just shook his head, indicating to the seneschal that he had no reply to this. Erestor understood, though, and they continued on their way.

The new dining room turned out to be the old pantry. It had been tastefully redecorated and showed no sign of its former use. But Legolas had neither the attention nor the time to ponder the changes in the interior design, for instantly he found himself swept into a three-way hug with the twins.

It was a bittersweet reunion, and by the time they all had exchanged their greetings and assurances of sympathy, their eyes were glistening with unshed tears and their voices were tight with barely controlled emotion. The absence of the rest of their families was distressing, and after an hour of staring at the delicious food on the table, but having no appetite for it, Elrohir decided that as the eldest* of them he had to do something about this sad state of affairs.

They grabbed as many bowls, platters, and bottles as they could carry and tracked down Erestor and Glorfindel in the Hall of Fire. The two seneschals did not even have to ask what was going on, for this had not been an uncommon occurrence of late.

Glorfindel poured liberal amounts of very good wine while Erestor plated up the food, and little by little the young ones relaxed enough to eat and actually enjoy their meal. Before long, Glorfindel launched into stories about his new class of recruits, which soon attracted a larger audience, and at least for this evening, the Hall of Fire was once more filled with light-hearted laughter.

\\*/*\\*/

Dinner in Thranduil's room was an entirely different matter. At the Elvenking's quiet enquiry about Arwen, Elrond seemed to deflate even more than Thranduil had thought possible, given the haggard appearance of his old friend. Slowly, haltingly, and with much gentle encouragement by Thranduil, Elrond had told him about Celebrían's departure over the sea and Arwen's subsequent departure to Lothlórien.

In the end, the king was torn between compassion for his friend, anger at the circumstances (and, if he was completely honest, at Arwen for abandoning her family in their time of grief), and the distinct feeling that Elrond had not even told him half of what had transpired since Celebrían's capture and rescue.

At some point Elrond had risen from his seat and walked to the window, standing with his back to Thranduil. It was the only way to get through the story without running the risk of losing his fragile composure. The king understood completely and was willing to give his friend the space he needed for the moment.

When Elrond ceased speaking, however, he seemed so lost and utterly lonely that Thranduil couldn't bear to let him suffer alone. He struggled to his feet and, when he was certain his legs would carry him, walked over to Elrond. Lifting his right arm as far as he could, he wrapped it around his friend's shoulders. Briefly shocked at how much flesh Elrond seemed to have lost, he then pulled him gently into his side. The fact that Elrond let him do so without protest or comment spoke volumes.

For the longest time they just stood there, looking out of the window, each dwelling on his own private thoughts. When Elrond finally _did_ speak, it was words that Thranduil thought he would never hear again from his oldest friend.

"What if I cannot help you, either?"

\\*/*\\*/

 _ ***I have, in fact, no idea if Elrohir or Elladan is the firstborn, and I couldn't find out. If I got it wrong, kindly let me know and I'll change it.**_

 _ **A/N2 (aka "random ramblings"): Just re-watching The Battle of the Five Armies. I think at some point I will have to write a fix-it story for that awful parting scene between Thranduil and Legolas. I know it has been done before, but then this scene NEEDS fixing. Badly. And goodness me ... Thranduil wielding two swords (or Elrond wielding one, for that matter) ... is it me, or is it getting hot in here?**_


	12. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Hello my lovely readers! I hope the last weeks have treated you kindly. I'm back from my fabulous holidays in gorgeous Cornwall (too soon *sniff*), and as expected, I've done a lot of writing. So here I am back with a new, nice and long chapter. I am sorry, it is a bit of a whopper, but there was no good place to break it up, and no use in doing so as far as the story is concerned.**_

 _ **Most of the next chapter is already done, so hopefully I will be able to have it up within the next two weeks, though I make no promises. RL has a tendency to get out of hand.**_

 _ **Thank you for all of your reviews, especially the guest ones to whom I cannot reply individually.**_

 _ **No warnings, just a bit of angst and fluff.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: I'm still neither J.R.R. Tolkien nor P. Jackson, nor will I ever be. Just playing in their sandbox for my writing pleasure.**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 10**

"King Thranduil? Lord Elrond said you wanted to talk to me?" Erestor stood in the doorway of the Elvenking's room, curious to find out what the Greenwood ruler might have to discuss with him.

"Lord Erestor! Thank you for taking the time to come and see me." The king smiled and lifted a hand in greeting. "Please, take a seat."

The Chief Advisor complied and waited for the Elvenking to speak.

"First of all I want to thank you for everything you are doing for me and my company. I realise we are visiting at a most difficult time."

Erestor inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I assure you, Your Majesty, that your visit is highly welcome, despite the circumstances. In fact, I think you could not have come at a better time."

Surprised, Thranduil slightly raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Things have obviously been ... hard during the last two years – both before and after Lady Celebrían sailed. Now, with the anniversary of her sailing coming up in two weeks' time, I think it will do Lord Elrond and the twins a world of good to have close friends here, if you allow me to be so forthright."

The Elvenking slightly tilted his head. "Well, I do not know about the twins, but I know – I can _see_ – that Elrond has two very good friends here," he replied, a vague note of insecurity in his voice.

Erestor smiled sadly. "That is very kind of you, Your Majesty, and of course you are right. But it is less than what he needs." The black-eyed elf turned very serious, choosing his next words with the utmost caution. "Although both Lord Glorfindel and I have known the loss of people dear to our hearts, we know nothing about being married, let alone losing one's soul companion. Our ability to comfort is sorely lacking in that regard, and we would not presume to understand the least of how enormous and all-encompassing such a loss is."

Thranduil studied him silently for a few moments before speaking, with equal care as the Chief Advisor. "It seems that we have the same concerns, Lord Erestor," he began slowly, "for it was for this very reason that I wished to speak with you. I have known Lord Erestor for most of my – and his – life, and we have stood together through some very trying times: but I have never, _never_ seen him like this. He is not well, neither in body nor, very obviously, in soul. And I know I am not alone in my concern for him, because I see my worries mirrored in the way you and Lord Glorfindel and the twins interact with him. I do not ask for details that you cannot share, but please tell me this: how bad was it?"

The rich, mellow voice of the Elvenking flowed and ebbed in a display of emotion that Erestor had never before witnessed in the Greenwood monarch, and it took him a moment to realise that there had been a question directed at him. A surge of memories swept over him, momentarily robbing him of his voice. Closing his eyes against the onslaught of feelings, he opened his mouth and forced out the words that to him were altogether too flat and hollow for the tragedy they described.

"He very nearly faded."

\\*/*\\*/

Glorfindel had taken Legolas and the twins out for a day of training and sparring, determined to get the former out of his shell and the latter to burn some of their angry energy that was always simmering under the surface. He had succeeded to some extent – they were currently sparring, tongues as quick as their swords – but their hearts weren't in it. What it was that weighed on their minds so heavily that hey seemed more like battle-weary old soldiers rather than the young, energetic colts that they used to be, the Golden Warrior could only guess at (though he had a fairly good idea).

So he drove them relentlessly, keeping them on their toes and forcing them to focus on something other than the worry for their fathers for a few hours.

He was pleasantly surprised to find support in Feren and Elros, who had asked to join in and very quickly caught on to Glorfindel's plan. As Galion was off somewhere with Lindir – the two had become fast friends almost instantly – they were two even teams of Imladris against the Greenwood, and the game was afoot.

Around noontime, when the six of them flopped down under a huge oak tree and were about to loot the huge picnic basket that Glorfindel had ordered, Legolas suddenly froze, a crestfallen expression descending on his fair face.

"Legolas? What is it?" Elladan asked, being the first one to notice the change in his friend.

"My father! He has been on his own all morning!"

"Oh, I highly doubt that," Glorfindel reassured the prince. "The king asked to speak with Erestor, and knowing them, they will still be deep in discussion when we return."

"But still –" Legolas started, only to be interrupted by Feren.

"My prince, I assure you that nothing would make your father happier than knowing that you are finally having a break," he said gently.

"But he does not know that because nobody told him –", the young elf pleaded, yet again he was interrupted, this time by Elrohir.

"Erestor knows, and I am sure he has told him. There is nothing to worry about, Legolas."

"And the moment he asks about you, someone will come to fetch you, my prince," Glorfindel soothed the upset son of the king.

In a corner of his mind, Legolas knew he was being irrational, but it didn't help his anxious heart.

Glorfindel realised that there was no use in trying to get back to the sparring now, so he made a different suggestion. "What about this: We have lunch, and then we all go back to the house. We meet again here mid-afternoon for another round."

Legolas nodded, a bit embarrassed that everyone had to interrupt their leisure time because of him. "I am sorry," he muttered. "I know I am being ridiculous."

"There is nothing ridiculous about being concerned for one's loved ones when they are unwell," Elladan said quietly. Both twins put a hand on Legolas' shoulders and gave them a comforting squeeze.

The three young _ellyn_ shared a long, meaningful look, as were the three older warriors. "Thank you," Legolas finally said, glancing at each of his companions in turn. "Thank you, truly. All of you."

\\*/*\\*/

The way his son sneaked into his room and inserted himself in his embrace reminded Thranduil of a much younger Legolas. And it wasn't that he felt disinclined to their new-found closeness and affection. Indeed, he relished it. However, he noted with fatherly concern the loss of confidence in his only child which seemed to go with it.

"How was your morning then, _ion-nín_?" he asked warmly when Legolas took his now customary seat on the floor by his legs, looking up at him. "Did you have fun on the training field?"

Legolas shrugged. "For a while," he replied non-committally.

Thranduil sighed inwardly but let it pass. Hopefully things would sort themselves out as soon as he started to heal after the operation.

" _Ada_?"

"Yes, Legolas?"

"Are you afraid of the surgery tomorrow?"

The Elvenking knew that much of his son's peace of mind would depend on how he answered this question, which made it a tricky issue. He needed to be honest, so Legolas would know he was allowed to feel whatever it was he felt – and at the same time he needed to be positive and confident, so the young prince wasn't paralysed by his fears.

"A little. Not so much of the surgery itself, though," he replied truthfully, "I am a bit nervous about how long I will take to heal, and whether I will be completely the same as before."

Legolas gripped his hand. "Whatever you need from me, _ada_ , I will be there for you," he promised solemnly.

"I know, _ion-nín_. You have shown me that a thousand times over." Thranduil returned the squeeze on Legolas' fingers. "I am very grateful, and I am also immensely proud of you. But regardless of all this, I love you very, very much. If everything else fails, you are and you will always be the one good thing in my life.

\\*/*\\*/

" _Adar_?"

Elrond looked up from the massive tome in front of him, surprised to see two identical heads peek around the library shelf. "Elrohir, Elladan! Is anything the matter?"

The twins approached, looking decidedly sheepish. "No, nothing, _ada_ ," Elladan started.

"It is just ... we have not seen you since breakfast, and you missed dinner, and we thought ..." Elrohir shrugged, unsure how to phrase their thoughts.

"Well, we thought there might be something the matter with _you_." Elladan finished the sentence.

Elrond blinked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he pondered their words. "And yet that has rarely compelled you to come looking for me before," he remarked matter-of-factly.

The twins flinched. It was true. They had taken to asking Erestor or Glorfindel to seek out their father when he was unexpectedly absent. It was no ill will on their part, just simple helplessness. Though he hid it well, their father's grief was still like an open, gaping wound that took so, so long to heal. They understood, and in fact admired him for bravely facing day after day after day. But they also wanted to help him – to help him _heal_ –, and they did not know how.

Their father's searching gaze was upon them as they strode forward to where he stood and enveloped him in a firm embrace. "Please forgive us for not seeking you out more often," Elladan said sincerely.

"And we are sorry if you have felt abandoned by us lately," Elrohir added. "That was never our intention."

With a heavy sigh, Elrond closed his arms around his sons and kissed the crown of their heads. "I know," he replied softly. Then he straightened to his full height, loosened his grip a bit, and looked them in the eyes. "So what _is_ the matter? What has brought this on?"

"Legolas," the twins murmured in unison, blushing contritely.

"The young prince? What has he got to do with this?" Elrond asked, his interest piqued. He went to sit on a bench by one of the windows, pulling his sons with him.

"It is just ... how he is around his father. How much he cares for him, and how he takes care of him, like he does not even think about it. It is so ... natural and affectionate ... and it made us think ... and we realised how much we have left you alone ... especially since Arwen left," Elrohir and Elladan replied, speaking in turns.

Elrond regarded his sons thoughtfully during their explanations. This was not quite a conversation he had neither expected tonight, and he was not entirely sure he was ready to have it. Still, after a beat he drew a deep breath and pulled the twins into his arms again.

"Look, I will not deny that I have missed you recently. I _do_ wish you were home more often. I _do_ wish that we would spend more time together. But you are adults, and you have every right to live independent lives.

"That being said, Legolas and Thranduil have much more practice at ... this. Legolas' mother died when he was just a babe. He and his father have had only each other for almost all of Legolas' life. Of course they have a completely different relationship than you and I do."

"But ... do you know that we love you? Because we do, more than anyone on Arda," Elladan pleaded. "Do you _feel_ that we love you?"

"Oh, I know that you love me. I have never doubted that for a single moment. But as to whether I feel it – that depends on many things, few of which have got to do with you," the wise elf lord replied, gently pulling his sons closer. "And you will find that this is true the other way around as well." He thought for a moment how to explain what he meant. "Of course it is easy to feel loved when we are all here together. When all I have to do is go and find you around the house or in the valley to see you and speak to you. But sometimes even then, grief or anger becomes so overwhelming that it is nearly impossible to feel anything – _anything –_ else."

Silence fell when Elrond finished speaking. The twins wrapped their arms around his middle and rested their heads on his shoulders. It was true – what their father had said applied to them as well. There was one difference, though. As twins, they always had each other. Their lives and souls were intertwined in a way even they themselves did not fully understand. But now that their mother had sailed, their father had no-one when they weren't around. Sure, there were Glorfindel and Erestor, but that was different. They were friends, not family.

As if reading their minds, Elrond spoke up once more. "There is one important thing you need to know, though," he said softly but firmly. "Nobody can _feel_ loved all the time. On this earth it is impossible." He felt his sons draw a sharp breath as if to protest, but he gave them no opportunity to do so. "That is why it is so important to _know_ that one is loved, for it enables you to remember the truth even when feeling fails. And this knowledge of being loved bridges space and time."

For a while it was quiet again. Elladan and Elrohir thought about what their father had said while Elrond simply enjoyed the undisturbed moments with his sons.

" _Ada_? Will you promise us something?" Elrohir eventually asked.

"What promise would you like me to make, _ionnath_?" their father replied.

"Promise that you will let us know when you need us to be with you?"

Elrond sighed. All too astutely his sons had hit on one of his weaknesses, for he tended to withdraw when something was bothering him. But if they wanted to go forward, they needed to re-learn how to interact with each other. It was just the three of them now.

" _Saes_?" Elladan looked at him with those large, imploring eyes that so very much reminded Elrond of Celebrían – and Arwen. A pang of pain shot through his heart, but he knew that this was a crucial moment: to take a step into the future, or else be enslaved by the past.

So he drew a deep breath and made a decision.

"I will try."

\\*/*\\*/

"Lord Elrond?"

With a distinct sense of déjà vu the Lord of Imladris looked up from his book again. He had just delved back into the subject matter after his sons had left a quarter of an hour earlier. He wanted to review a few more things for tomorrow's surgery – not that he really needed to – but it seemed that this was not to be. "Prince Legolas! What can I do for you?" he asked kindly when he noticed the young elf's troubled expression.

"I am sorry to disturb you," Legolas replied, taking a hesitant step towards the ancient elf lord.

"What is on your mind, my prince?" Elrond replied, approaching the young elf and leading him to the same bench by the window that he had occupied with his sons earlier.

Legolas looked at him, his eyes just as pleading as the twins' not an hour ago, but did not speak. It seemed that speech had fled him as fear and worry overwhelmed him.

"Is it about the surgery tomorrow?" the healer asked gently.

Legolas slowly nodded. "Is he ... will it ... could he ..." The young prince stopped, swallowing hard. "Is my father strong enough to make it through?" he finally whispered.

"He is," Elrond assured him, then blinked as it started to dawn on him why Legolas was so anxious. "Oh, but of course he is, my prince. Has no-one spoken to you about the surgery?"

The young elf looked unsure. "Sadron explained what you are going to do, but he also said that you were going to wait these three days for him to recover his strength, for otherwise he was too weak to withstand such a procedure. But are three days really enough? Please tell me, Lord Elrond: is my father's life at risk?"

Compassion flooded the ancient healer's heart and he emphatically shook his head even as he put a comforting hand on Legolas' shoulder. "No, my prince, it is not, and it would not have been if we had performed the operation three days ago. I am so sorry to have worried you so much by not explaining precisely what we were doing and why."

Now Legolas looked even more confused than before, so the healer hurried to explain. "You had been on the road for weeks. Your father was in great pain, as well as in need of water and food. All of that is true, but it would not have put his life at risk concerning the surgery. See, if a body is weakened by pain, hunger, and thirst, it becomes more susceptible to infection, and more prone to complications afterwards. Healing takes longer, much longer, than in a well-rested, well-nourished body. – Your father had already endured so much, I simply wanted to ensure that he does not suffer any more than what is strictly unavoidable."

Again the prince nodded slowly, but he still looked doubtful. "And what about the operation itself? What if anything goes wrong? Sadron said the procedure is very complicated."

"Aye, it is complicated, and it takes a lot of experience to perform it correctly. But I promise you: whatever the outcome of the surgery, it can only serve to improve your father's condition.

Legolas' eyes clouded over with fear and despair. "How can you know that?" he whispered. "It is not that I do not trust you and your abilities ... I am just so terribly afraid for him!"

These last words were spoken in such a small voice that they were barely audible. Lord Elrond's fatherly side took over and he wrapped an arm around Legolas' shoulders. "I understand," he replied quietly, "and it is only normal that you are. We always fear for the ones we love when they are in danger or suffering. Especially when there is nothing we can do to help."

\\*/*\\*/

"Lord Elrond?" Yet again the ancient healer found himself being interrupted, this time by his former student.

"Sadron! What can I do for you?" he asked, closing the book in front of him and giving up on the attempt to get any more work done tonight.

"King Thranduil asked me to relay a request," the Greenwood healer replied, glancing at the title of the book on Elrond's library desk. "But it is not urgent. He simply asked to see you before you retire for the night."

"Then I will not let him wait. He needs his sleep," the Lord of Imladris decided, wondering what it was that the Elvenking wanted to discuss.

"May I borrow your surgery book in the meantime? I would like to familiarise myself a little more still with tomorrow's procedure, so I may benefit more from your teaching," Sadron asked.

His former tutor raised an eyebrow, and Sadron almost sniggered at the familiar mannerism. "Who says I am going to teach you?" he replied. "You are experienced enough to learn by observing and assisting."

The Greenwood healer smiled, undeterred. "Ah, Lord Elrond, that may or may not be true; but you are fooling yourself if you think you can refrain from teaching as soon as you set foot in the halls of healing."

Elrond regarded his former student calmly. "The only thing I really want to teach you tomorrow is that your king's current condition is in no way your fault."

Sadron ducked his head, mortified at having his greatest doubts spoken out loud. "How can you know that? You do not know what you will find during the surgery."

"I know _you_ ," Lord Elrond replied, "and I know what I taught you. Do not blame yourself for staying away from a procedure you knew nothing about and had not even seen done during your studies. If I taught you anything back then, it is that a healer must know his or her limits. Whatever we are going to find tomorrow is not to be blamed on you."

\\*/*\\*/

A few minutes later Elrond walked into Thranduil's room, finding the Elvenking in bed but sitting up, apparently reading. "Thranduil," he announced himself in a soft voice, noting with bewilderment that his friend had not reacted to his knock on the door.

"Ah, Elrond!" Thranduil's head snapped around, almost dropping the book in his hands that he had all but forgotten about, initially trying to read but only staring at the same page for the past half hour. "Thank you for coming, _mellon-nín_. I am sorry to have interrupted whatever you were doing."

"Who says you interrupted me?" Elrond asked, slightly raising his eyebrows as he pulled up a chair to the king's bedside.

"Your posture tells me you have been brooding over your books all evening, as do the slight finger-marks on your forehead. You are a creature of habit, _mellon-nín_ ," Thranduil teased him kindly, and a tired smile flitted over Elrond's drawn face.

"Be that as it may, I do not mind. Tell me what I can do for you."

Setting his book aside and sitting up a little more, Thranduil patted the space next to him on the edge of the bed. "Sit here, please. I would like to be able to look at you properly for what I wish to say to you."

Bemused, Elrond complied. "Yes?"

Thranduil studied his old friend closely, the words that had haunted him throughout the past two days echoing in his mind: _"What if I cannot help you either?"_ and _"He very nearly faded."_ It hurt him to see his life-long friend so doubtful and despondent. Finally he spoke, softly but firmly.

"I trust you, _mellon-nín_. I hope you know that already, but I will gladly say it again and again. No matter what the outcome of tomorrow's surgery will be, I know that you will apply all your skills and knowledge to the task. And should the result not be what we hope for, it will not be for lack of ability or attempt."

Elrond stared at him for a full minute without a word before he turned away his gaze towards a nearby window. "You do not understand," he muttered, his voice hollow. "If I fail and you have no other choice but to sail, our defence to the north will fall. There will be war on all fronts, against an evil we are unable to stop or even hinder. Middle Earth will fall and what is left of our kind will not even get the chance to flee to Valinor."

The Elvenking did not answer for a very long time. All protest had died on his lips the moment he realised that Elrond's fears were most likely not the product of an overwhelmed _f_ _ë_ _a_ but founded on visions his old friend had had.

Eventually, though, he drew a sharp breath and uttered just one resolute word. "No."

Elrond's gaze snapped back to Thranduil. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

"No, you cannot think like that. It will paralyse you, not only with respect to the surgery but for life as a whole. You are _not_ responsible for the fate of all Middle Earth. The way of the world is much too complicated for that, and you are _not_ the lord of history. Neither am I, nor is my kingdom the only decisive factor. I agree that great responsibility was given to us – perhaps more to you than to me –, and sometimes it can rest on our shoulders like a burden that is too heavy to bear. But you know as well as I do that _nothing_ will happen before its appointed time."

Thranduil caught Elrond's hand in his and held on. "I know that the world must seem like a dark, hostile place to you at the moment." All the previous steel was gone from the king's voice now, leaving it to flow like the soothing caress of a balmy evening wind. "I know your loss is a devastating one, and some wounds will never heal this side of the Undying Lands. But there still is friendship and love in this world and in our lives – in yours and in mine. It may not seem like much, but it will help you to face life, one day at a time."

The Lord of Imladris almost smiled as he heard his own words from long ago quoted back to him – words that he had said to Thranduil not long after the death of his beloved wife. "I did not think you even heard me that night," he replied quietly, sadness flooding his heart at the memory.

"Oh, I heard you," Thranduil said, leaning forward a bit and holding his old friend's gaze again. "I just could not believe it at the time. It seemed so impossible, so very much out of reach. But – you were right. And we are still here, and we will help each other to be here tomorrow. I know you will, and I promise you to, as well."

For a moment Elrond struggled to find his voice, but Thranduil wasn't finished yet. "And now please do not drive yourself to distraction on account of the surgery. Knowing you, you are able to do it blindfolded and one-handed. – Go. Spend the evening with your sons, or with Erestor and Glorfindel, or preferably with all four of them. Get a good night's sleep. I will see you in the morning," he added, a tiny playful twinkle in in his eye.

"Am I being dismissed in my own house?" Elrond smiled, raising an eyebrow.

"No, of _course_ not. I would never be so rude, contrary to what everyone thinks," Thranduil replied innocently.

Elrond inclined his head. " _Le hannon, mellon-nín_ ," he said quietly and gave Thranduil's hand a grateful squeeze. "Now that you and Legolas are back, I realise how much I missed you. It is so good to have you here again." _Although I will certainly not forget to ask you why you stayed away for so long._


	13. Chapter 11

_**A/N: I cannot believe it has been an entire month! Did I not say that the chapter was half-written? That I would probably be able to post within two weeks? I have never been so wrong! (And extra cookies for everyone who catches this atrociously obvious allusion ...)**_

 _ **Well, I did not lie – the chapter was half-written. What I did not realise at the time was that I would end up writing and re-writing the second half at least three times. Argh!**_

 _ **Anyway, thank you everyone who is still sticking with this story. A shout-out to all reviewers of the last chapter; I will reply to you personally over the weekend.**_

 _ **And now without further ado, chapter 11. I suggest you make yourselves comfortable, because it's a long one again. Here, have a cup of tea ...**_

 _ **Disclaimer: If you must, please refer to previous chapters. I do own a box of nice English tea, though ...**_

\\*/*\\*/

 **Chapter 11**

The next morning saw the Lord of Imladris, the King of the Greenwood, his personal physician, and two of Imladris' best healers in the surgery room, ready to begin the complicated procedure. All that was left to do before they could start was to send the Elvenking into sleep.

With an expression of utter disgust Thranduil downed the awful-tasting liquid and glared at Elrond. "In all the millennia that you have been a healer you have not managed to find a way to make this stuff taste bearable?" he grumbled.

"And rob myself of the fun of listening to you complain about it?" Elrond deadpanned, almost causing Sadron to burst out laughing.

"No more Dorwinion deliveries for you for the next few centuries," the Elvenking muttered, already slurring his words.

"Go to sleep, _mellon-nín_ ," the other elf lord said softly, resting his hand on Thranduil's shoulder.

"D'nt worry. It'll beallright, y'll see," the king replied, his words barely decipherable now, before he slipped into deep sleep.

But Elrond had understood. " _Hannon le_ ," he whispered.

While the other healers positioned Thranduil on his stomach for the operation, Elrond washed his hands thoroughly, rubbing them with strong alcohol afterwards.

One last look at the detailed drawings of the original injury that Sadron had supplied, and a deep breath.

"Ready?" he asked into the room, not expecting an answer but getting nods all around anyway.

"Then let us begin."

\\*/*\\*/

As he stretched to reach for a book on one of the upper boards of the library shelf in front of him, a tiny movement in his peripheral vision caught Erestor's eye. "Prince Legolas," he said calmly, taking the book and turning around to face the young elf sitting in a dark corner. "Am I right in assuming that you are intentionally evading the attention of Lord Glorfindel and the twins, who, by the way, are looking for you everywhere?"

A small smile rippled around Legolas' lips. "Not _everywhere_ , it seems," he replied. "And yes," he added softly, curling his fingers around a small bundle of something Erestor couldn't identify. "I know they mean well, trying to distract me during my father's surgery, but I just was not in the mood."

The Chief Advisor nodded although Legolas had his eyes fixed on the bundle on his lap and couldn't see the gesture. "Would you like me to leave you alone as well?" he asked gently.

"No ... actually ... I was hoping that you would come here at some point." The Greenwood prince looked up. "I know it probably sounds silly, and I do not mean to keep you from your work, but ..." He blushed a little. "Would you mind just staying here to read for a while?"

Erestor smiled and sat down on the floor next to the young elf. This was familiar. While he could be just as rambunctious as the twins, the Elvenking's son also had an extremely sensitive side. Many decades ago, when Thranduil and Legolas used to visit Imladris regularly, the prince had often come sneaking into his study, simply to hide out for a while, playing or reading quietly in a corner or simply dreaming away. Thranduil had told him in confidence that Legolas did the same thing at home – often spending hours in his father's study while he worked.

Returning his thoughts to the here and now, Erestor nodded again. "Of course," he replied. "And you are not keeping me from anything."

Somehow Legolas doubted the truth of that statement – there was _always_ some work the Chief Advisor had to see to –, but he decided to simply be grateful for the elf lord's kindness.

Erestor opened his book, leant back against the wall, and began to read.

After a while, he heard Legolas' breath even out in sleep, and a few minutes later the young elf's head landed on the Chief Advisor's shoulder. Erestor smiled sadly to himself. The prince must be very tired to fall asleep in the middle of the morning. Well, probably more _exhausted_ than tired, the dark haired elf corrected himself. No wonder. If the interactions between the two Greenwood royals during the past three days were anything to go by, Legolas must have worn himself out caring for his father in the weeks and months since the accident.

A tiny noise caught Erestor's attention, a peculiar sound of metal and wood that seemed to emanate from the bundle on Legolas' lap. The young elf's fingers uncurled in sleep and the soft cloth pouch slipped a little. The minute sound and movement sufficed to wake the prince again, and in an almost frantic move he grabbed the pouch. Unfortunately, and because he was a little uncoordinated in his half-awake state, Legolas grabbed the wrong end, the pouch opened and its contents spilt over his legs and onto the floor.

"Sorry," he mumbled, scrambling to pick up the different pieces of – well, wood and metal ... pieces of something that once seemed to have been very intricate and beautiful craftsmanship but now looked broken beyond repair.

Erestor was intrigued. He reached for what appeared to have been a lid of sorts, going by the shape of the fragment and the hinge still crookedly attached to it, and held it up. "What is this?" he enquired softly, aware that Legolas looked very upset.

The young prince stopped in mid-motion and his shoulders slumped despondently. "My music box," he whispered. "My father made it for me even before I was born."

The dark-haired elf turned the piece of wood in his hands to look at the delicate carving. "What happened to it?" he asked even more gently.

For a long moment, Legolas didn't answer, obviously struggling for words. "It got broken," he eventually whispered, "and I do not know how to fix it."

Erestor could only guess at the story behind these desolate words, but he was wiser than to ask any further questions. If Legolas wanted to talk about what had happened, he would.

"I thought to ask my father to repair it," the young elf indeed continued after a few moments. "He is the one who built it in the first place, he will know what to do." Again, Legolas paused, and finally added: "But I do not know how to ask him to do that."

The Chief Advisor pondered Legolas' words for a while. There were, to his mind, three possible explanations why the prince, who had an exceptionally trusting and affectionate relationship with his father, would not dare to approach him with such a relatively simple request. One: He was guilty of breaking the music box and feared his father's reaction. Two: Thranduil was guilty of breaking the music box and Legolas did not dare remind him of the fact. Three: This had somehow to do with the late Elvenqueen.

All of these explanations, however logical, did not really make sense to Erestor; they just seemed so out of character for the Greenwood family. Strangely enough, however, the solution to all of them was the same.

"What if, instead of asking him to fix it, you ask him if you can fix it together?"

Legolas lifted his head and stared at Erestor with his large blue eyes as if the Chief Advisor had just announced the remedy for all evil in Arda. The next moment the dark-eyed elf found himself wrapped in a rib-crushing hug by the Greenwood prince. "Thank you, Lord Erestor," Legolas whispered, resting his head on the Chief Advisor's shoulder when he felt his embrace being returned. "You really are the best."

Erestor just smiled and gently rubbed the young elf's back until he felt the tense muscles starting to relax. "It is going to be all right," he said quietly, somewhat cringing at the sound of the cliché words but whole-heartedly meaning each one of them at the same time.

Legolas nodded against his shoulder, making no move to pull away. Instead he downright snuggled up to the Chief Advisor, burying his face in the soft, dark robe just like he had done countless times as an elfling.

No further words were spoken, nor were they needed. Outside, a soft rain began to fall as Legolas slipped into sleep again, content in the knowledge that his wise old friend was keeping watch over him.

\\*/*\\*/

One last time Elrond checked the sutures he had placed in the surgery wound on Thranduil's back. Satisfied that everything looked neat and clean, the Lord of Imladris nodded. "Very good," he announced. "Now let us dress the wound and take him back to his bed."

Sadron was not really surprised that Elrond wanted to see things through right to the finishing touches, but he was worried about the obvious toll the procedure had taken on the ancient healer. As soon as Elrond had placed the last stitch, his hands had started to shake – just a tiny bit, and Sadron doubted anyone else had noticed – and his haggard face was growing paler by the minute.

Still the Greenwood healer waited until the surgery was completed and everyone else was out of earshot before voicing his concern for his old teacher. "Lord Elrond?" he asked quietly while the two of them worked on getting the Elvenking situated just right on his bed. "Are you feeling quite well?"

Elrond didn't look up from what he was doing, just clenching and unclenching his hand a few times when picking up a small vial of smelling salts proved to be a challenge for his trembling fingers.

"It is nothing," the Lord of Imladris replied, his voice sounding a bit too thin for Sadron's liking. "Just nerves."

The Greenwood healer nodded, understanding albeit not entirely convinced. He certainly had experienced some aftereffects himself in the wake of particularly difficult or taxing surgeries. But obviously Elrond did not want to talk about it, and Sadron was in no position to press matters. So he silently watched as the elf lord unstopped the vial and held it under Thranduil's nose.

Both healers sighed in relief when the strong smell elicited the desired reaction. The Elvenking coughed slightly and opened his eyes for a brief moment.

"Very good. Welcome back, old friend," Elrond said softly, a weak smile flitting over his drawn features. "Now we will let you sleep. Sadron is here to look after you. I will go and tell Legolas that everything went well."

Of course the ancient elf lord knew that his friend hadn't regained full consciousness and couldn't understand what he was saying, but they all needed to hear the words spoken out loud.

Both healers straightened and locked eyes over their patient, and Sadron realised that the Lord of Imladris had reached the end of his endurance at that moment. Without a further word Elrond stripped off his white linen gown and strode out of the room.

By sheer willpower he made it into the hallway and managed to shut the door to the healing ward behind him. Then, however, he ran out of steam in the blink of an eye. An almighty tremor ran through his entire body and his legs gave way under him. He would have hit the floor in a rather undignified manner if not for the strong arms that caught him around the waist and hauled him to the bench on the opposite wall.

"Easy," a familiar voice came from seemingly far away, but probably very close to him. "Take a deep breath."

In one fluid motion skilled hands pulled his hair away from his face and over to one side, leaving his neck exposed to the soothing caress of the rain-washed wind. At the same time a gentle pressure between his shoulder blades reminded him that it was probably a good idea to lean forward and put his head between his knees.

Slowly the rushing in his ears subsided and Elrond recognised the sound of a liquid being poured into a glass. Next thing he knew, said glass was shoved into his hands. "Drink." The succinct command finally prompted Elrond's brain to put voice with name.

"Glorfindel? What are you doing here?" the dark-haired elf lord asked, still somewhat out of breath, while he took a suspicious sniff at the glass in his trembling fingers.

"It is Dorwinion, not Miruvor. I know you cannot stand the stuff. Now less talking, more drinking."

And Elrond obeyed, downing the contents of the glass in one go and holding it out for a refill.

"That bad, huh?" Glorfindel asked, pouring more wine before placing his hand on Elrond's back again.

"The surgery went fine, if that is what you are asking," the healer replied, a little more curtly than intended. "I am sorry," he apologised immediately. "The surgery _was_ complicated and taxing, but it went very well, and I expect favourable results. It is just ..." Elrond shook his head, drank down the second glass of wine and slumped against the wall behind him.

"Memories?" the Balrog Slayer hazarded a guess.

Suddenly incapable of speaking around the lump in his throat, the Lord of Imladris just nodded.

Glorfindel leant back as well, adjusting his arm around Elrond's shoulders, and let out a long breath. He knew about memories, perhaps better than most. How they could rear their ugly head at a certain smell, sound, sight, or even an unconscious movement. The surgery with all the blood and everything must have been an assault on Elrond's mind, with Celebrían's finding and subsequent treatment just shy of two measly years in the past. To such ancient elves as Elrond and himself, two years ago might just as well have been yesterday.

Sometimes perfect Elven memory was more a curse than a blessing.

"Where is Legolas?" the Lord of Imladris asked abruptly, once more in control of his emotions.

The Golden Warrior grinned. "You would not believe it," he chuckled.

His old friend smiled in return. "Oh, I think I would."

\\*/*\\*/

With a fond expression, the Lord of Imladris looked at the tableau before him. His Chief Advisor was sitting on the floor of the library, reading calmly, his book in one hand and the other gently running over the young Greenwood prince's golden head that was resting comfortably in his lap. The fact that Legolas' eyes were almost fully closed was concerning, but not surprising, given what he and his father had been through.

Sensing someone's eyes on himself, Erestor looked up from his reading. Unsure what to make of Elrond's exhausted demeanour, he slowly set his book aside and raised a questioning eyebrow.

The healer smiled wearily and approached the unlikely pair. "Everything went well," he said quietly. "It was just a long and complicated procedure."

Erestor nodded and moved his hand from Legolas' head to his shoulder, gently rubbing it in order to wake the Greenwood prince.

"Legolas," he called softly. "Lord Elrond is here."

It took a few moments for the young elf to fully awaken, but when he recognised the Lord of Imladris, he sat up immediately, big blue eyes looking expectantly at the ancient elf.

"My prince, I am sorry to disturb your rest, but I thought you would want to be informed as soon as possible," Elrond began, and Legolas nodded eagerly.

"Yes, please! How is my father? Did everything go according to plan?"

The healer sat down on the ground opposite the other two _ellyn_ , who both looked slightly startled at the casual gesture. "Everything went very well, Prince Legolas, and your father has shown no signs of distress so far. I succeeded in briefly rousing him into consciousness soon after the surgery, just as it should be. Lord Sadron is with him now. As for the eventual outcome, it is too soon to tell precisely, but things look good so far."

Relief crossed the prince's features. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. Thank you so much. Can I see him? Just for a moment?" he asked, anxious to see with his own eyes that his father was safe and recovering.

"Of course. In fact, that is the other reason why I came to see you," Elrond replied kindly. "But first –" He held up a hand when Legolas made to jump to his feet. "– let me ask you how _you_ are faring."

The young elf looked confused. "Me? I am fine. Why –" He looked from Elrond to Erestor, seeking an explanation for the strange question.

"Legolas," the Chief Advisor said gently, forgoing the crown prince's title for the second time, "you fell asleep on me not one hour after breakfast. It is well past lunch now. You slept for hours. And you slept with your eyes almost completely closed. 'Tis a worrisome thing, and we would help you if we can."

The prince blushed. "It is nothing, really. Only I have not had a proper sleep since the accident until we arrived here at Imladris. I am probably more tired than I ever thought I could be."

"So how are you feeling now?" Elrond asked, rising to walk to Legolas' side and pull him to his feet.

"A little hungry," the prince admitted, sounding surprised.

"Then let us all go have a late lunch," Erestor suggested. Whatever objection Elrond might or might not have had was smothered by the look the Chief Advisor shot at him. And of course Erestor was right. Legolas would never sit down and eat a proper meal if the two older _ellyn_ didn't do the same.

"If you go ahead, my lord Elrond, and accompany the prince to the dining room, I will round up Glorfindel and the twins," Erestor said smoothly, effectively settling the matter. "I cannot imagine they would object to a second lunch."

\\*/*\\*/

The first thing that insistently filtered into Thranduil's increasing consciousness was the comforting sense of never being alone. There was always the sound, the smell, the warmth, the touch of a familiar person. Sometimes it was Elrond, sometimes Sadron, but most often it was his precious son. Sometimes they would speak to him in reassuring tones; sometimes they simply held his hand.

Slowly awareness returned, and with it, memory. Most of all, Thranduil remembered pain, and even now he expected it to make itself know any moment. It did not, though. At first he ascribed it to the fact that he had been given strong pain medicines. Of course, there was the occasional twinge in the surgery wound when he was moved – very carefully – to be turned on his other side, or for the sheets to be changed. But other than that, he remained blissfully pain-free

And finally he woke up to the golden rays of a setting sun playing on his pillow. "There you are." The soft smile in the healer's voice was unmistakeable.

Thranduil blinked a few times, his eyelids still sluggish. "Elrond. How long was I out?" He found his voice to be surprisingly strong, considering the fact that it had not been used in a while.

"Not as long as you think. You have been drifting in and out of consciousness for about a day," the healer explained, holding a cup of water with a straw against Thranduil's lips, encouraging him to drink.

"Where is Legolas?" the Elvenking asked between sips.

"At dinner with the twins. He was in need of a break, so I sent him off for a few hours. I can call for him if you want?"

Thranduil gingerly shook his head. "No. Leave him be. He has spent too many hours at my bedside for the past few months as it is." He paused, then added: "But hopefully he will not have to do that for much longer?"

Elrond put the water cup on a small table by the bed and sat down so he was more on eye level with his friend. "I should hope not," he confirmed, sounding satisfied. "The surgery went very well, and I am quite happy with how much you have healed already. Tomorrow morning we will get you up on your feet, and then on to exercising your muscles."

The Elvenking gave an approving nod. "So what exactly was wrong in there?"

The healer smiled. "That is actually quite interesting. Let me get Sadron's sketches." He rose and collected a sheaf of papers from a nearby desk. "He has enormous artistic talent, by the way. – So here ..."

Elrond held up a detailed drawing of vertebrae, nerves, blood vessels, and muscles. "That is the original injury. There were several splinters embedded here." He pointed to a smallish-looking space between two vertebrae.

"Now it was wise of Sadron not to try and remove them right away. There was a lot of tissue damage and they were wedged between nerves and blood vessels here and here ..." Again, Elrond pointed to the spots in the drawing, and Thranduil easily recognised that the entire injured area was a delicate miniature maze of vital but fragile connections. "So he had no way of knowing the whole extent of the injury. It was better to let everything heal on its own as far as it would, and correct any problems later."

The Elvenking nodded again; so far, so good. "And that was what caused the problems? The splinters being in there and pressing on some nerves?" he asked, curious about the explanation.

His old friend smiled. "Yes and no. You see, if our body detects something that does not belong in it, it has various ways of dealing with the potential danger. It may try to expel the thing in question – for example by coughing or sneezing, or any way our digestive system deals with things. Or it may try to dissolve the object, usually by producing pus. A third way is to encapsulate the object and thus cushion it so it can do no further damage. That is what happened in your case. Your body enveloped the splinters in additional tissue. Unfortunately, this very clever mechanism of the body caused at least as much trouble as it prevented, because it increased the splinters in size, as it were, and thus intensified the pressure on nerves and blood vessels. _That_ was the problem."

Thranduil stared at the drawing for a moment longer, then asked: "And you removed all of that in the surgery?"

Elrond nodded. "I did. It was slow and complicated going at first, to get to the exact spot, but then the splinters were actually easier to remove within the tissue because they were nicely isolated, in capsules, if you will. I kept them to study, so I can show them to you if you want," the healer finished with a mischievous smile. He loved teasing his old friend about his squeamishness concerning all things medical – a little-known fact, for Thranduil never shied away from caring for his wounded soldiers if needed, and of course all injuries Legolas had sustained throughout his life. He kept insisting that battlefield injuries were different from "the gross stuff" Elrond dealt with as a healer. Frankly, the Lord of Imladris could not see the difference, but he took a guilty pleasure in ribbing Thranduil once in a while.

As expected, the Elvenking blanched slightly and put on a scowl to hide the fact. "I think I can live without having seen that, thank you very much," he huffed.

Elrond chuckled, and Thranduil's glare of mock disgust turned into a fond smile.

"You did it, _mellon-nín_ ," he said quietly.

Their eyes met, and suddenly Elrond's filled with tears. "I did," he whispered, and both of them knew they weren't just talking about the successful surgery anymore. "Thank you for believing in me."


	14. Chapter 12

_**A/N: I'm in a bit of a hurry, so no author's note today in favour of getting this chapter uploaded. For disclaimers etc., please refer to the other chapters. Enjoy, and thanks for reading!**_

 **Chapter 12**

"Do not blame me if you are stiff and sore tomorrow," Sadron grumbled as he and Thranduil inched along the hallway towards the king's quarters in the Peredhil family wing. "I told you to wait another day or two, until you are a little stronger, before walking such a distance."

"Oh, stow it, Sadron. Just admit it: you did not believe I could make it this far on my own two feet," Thranduil countered, slightly out of breath but in as smug a tone as he could muster. In all honesty he himself hadn't been too sure about his ability to walk the distance only three days after the surgery, but his need to be away from the healing ward and near his son again was greater than any other concern the healers had. And he was nothing if not determined.

"Stubborn Sinda," his personal physician muttered, adjusting his grip around the king's waist and on his arm. Of course, in secret he was insanely happy to see Thranduil so much improved. And he also understood that the king was doing this in no small part for his son's sake. Legolas _needed_ to see his father getting better – not only better, but fully recovered – so he could heal as well.

"How has my son fared over the past few days?" Thranduil asked as if on cue, switching into the Silvan dialect that only a handful of the Imladris elves understood, so they wouldn't be overheard.

"You have seen him every day," Sadron replied, even though he was well aware of what his friend was asking between the lines.

"I have seen what he has shown me," the king confessed, deep concern bleeding into his voice.

Sadron withstood the temptation to shake his head in exasperation at the irony, for this was not what the worried father needed. The headstrong king he could deal with later.

"I am sure everything will be resolved when you are reunited. You have always been better together than apart," he replied warmly, giving his old friend's arm a reassuring squeeze.

Thranduil's features softened. "That is true," he agreed. "I do not know what I would do – who I would become – without him." Unspoken and yet understood remained the fear of what would happen if that ever changed.

It simply did not bear thinking about.

\\*/*\\*/

"Where is my father?" Legolas stood in the doorway of the room in the healing ward that had been occupied by the Elvenking until this morning. Only now the bed was empty and the space smelled of the strong vinegar which the healers used for cleaning.

"He insisted on going back to his own quarters, my lord. Lord Sadron accompanied him. They left shortly after breakfast," the Imladris healer – Legolas did not know her name but recalled seeing her around the ward a few times – explained.

"And does Lord Elrond know about this?" the prince asked, not quite sure whether to be annoyed or worried about his father's stubborn impatience.

The healer smiled. "Oh, he knows. In fact, he authorised it."

"He _what_? But the surgery was only four days ago, and yesterday my father could barely walk from his bed to the window!" Legolas exclaimed.

" _Authorise_ is a strong word, my lady." The familiar deep voice held a spark of amusement. "If memory serves, I think my exact words were: 'If you manage to walk there on your own two feet, go ahead.' And apparently he did ... with a little help."

Legolas stared at the Lord of Imladris with a mixture of disbelief and consternation. "You let him _walk_ the distance? Surely he is still no well enough for that?" he blurted out before considerations of station and propriety had the chance to rein in his temperament. When they did a moment later, he blushed fiercely and launched into an elaborate apology.

Lord Elrond, however, interrupted him with a raised hand. "Peace, my prince. There is no need to apologise. Believe me, I did not just let him go without lecturing him _at length_ about the risks of such an undertaking. But be assured that I would not have let him leave if he was in danger of doing himself serious harm. Apparently he was willing to risk having to be hauled back to his rooms by Lord Sadron like a sack of potatoes."

Legolas smiled faintly at the mental image, but the levity was short-lived. "I still do not understand why he did not let me know that he was returning to his quarters today. I could have helped," he wondered, but his tone was insecure and almost pleading.

"Maybe that was precisely why he did not tell you," Lord Elrond replied, putting gentle hands on the young elf's shoulders. His heart ached at the crestfallen expression on the fair features. "Look, I do not know much about being a son, but I do know a little about being a father. It is not easy for us to show weakness – perceived or real – in front of our children. It goes against our instinct to protect them at all times."

Legolas raised uncertain eyes to the ancient elf lord's face. The wise words made perfect sense and were spoken in the kindest, gentlest way imaginable. Yet it still hurt to acknowledge their truth. "I do not like it when he shuts me out," he murmured.

Elrond sighed and steered the young warrior to a quiet corner. Pulling him down on a low bench, he set formality aside and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. "Your father is one of the most courageous elves I know," the healer said quietly. "I think he has only two great fears in his life: losing you and hurting you. Unfortunately, sometimes the former cannot be achieved without risking the latter." He paused for a moment, feeling the Greenwood prince slump in resignation. "Also, sometimes pride gets in the way and corrupts our purest intentions," he added softly. "No father wants to be viewed as weak by his children."

"Injured is not weak," Legolas murmured.

The Lord of Imladris chuckled in response. "You are absolutely right. And if your roles were reversed, your father would tell you – or anyone, really – the very same thing." He sighed a little. "I suppose there is some measure of double standards involved in that whole parent-children business."

"Does that ever change?" the young elf asked, sounding as if he found the matter confusing and altogether too complicated and difficult.

"Change – yes, somewhat, over time. At least that is what I am given to understand. Go away entirely – never."

\\*/*\\*/

"Your Majesty, it is a delight to see you so much recovered!" Feren's voice was calm but full of barely contained joy as he greeted his king. Elros at his shoulder had an equally hard time keeping a broad smile out of his face – a smile that his brothers usually called "grinning like an idiot" –, but his eyes shone with gladness and affection.

"I thank you, and thank you also for coming on such short notice. You were probably otherwise engaged and could have done without the interruption," Thranduil replied, secretly amused at the slightly dishevelled look of his personal guard who, by all appearances, had stormed in from the training field as soon as they had received his summons. "I take it Galion was unavailable?"

"That's one way of putting it," Elros muttered, earning himself Feren's elbow in his ribs, so he quickly added: "Your Majesty."

"My king, Galion is with Lindir, visiting Lindir's family for the day. I understand they live on the outskirts of Imladris. If he had known you would be returning to your quarters today, he surely would not have gone in the first place," Feren jumped in, always the diplomat.

Thranduil sensed that there was a lot more to this outing than a simple visit to a friend's family, but he let it go. He had always enjoyed the fruits of the palace grapevine, which were so much sweeter if picked in ignorance of the concerned party. Oh, there was something to look forward to!

"Peace, you two. It was no criticism, just ... well, force of habit, I suppose. I merely wished to see you in person to thank you for your concern and good wishes, and to reassure you of my wellbeing. You have been of great help to me and the Crown Prince, and I could not ask for a better or more loyal personal guard."

Feren and Elros inclined their heads, their eyes shining with delight at the unexpected praise. "It is an honour to serve you, Sire," they replied in unison, but never had the customary response come more deeply from their hearts.

With a few more kind words and a firm reminder to leave Galion in peace, the Elvenking dismissed his guard. On their way out they passed Legolas, joyfully greeting their prince before withdrawing.

So full of happiness at their king's recovery were their minds and hearts that they missed the flash of hurt in the prince's eyes.

His father, however, did not.

\\*/*\\*/

For a long moment Legolas stood in the doorway, taking in the sight of his father resting on a comfortable couch by the window. Although he had only seen him a few hours ago before breakfast, he looked very different. Dressed in comfortable clothes instead of a nightshirt, his silky hair, brushed out and lustrous, reflecting the midday sun, and only faint traces of his burn scars visible, the king seemed more like himself than he had in months.

For some reason, Legolas found himself unable to move for speak. He just stood by the door, an unreadable expression on his face. " _Adar_ ," he finally forced out.

"Legolas!" Thranduil smiled, obviously expecting his son to come to him as he always did. When the prince didn't move, his face fell. "Legolas?"

Slowly the young elf made his way over to his father, finally coming to stand in front of him and regarding him silently. In the sunlight that fell through the window it became apparent that, for all that he was much improved, his father's face was still pale and haggard, his scars more prominent than it had seemed from the distance, and his blind eye still dull and clouded. Once again, a sickening feeling of guilt stabbed at Legolas' insides, and his shoulders sagged. "Yes, _ada_?"

Thranduil reached out and took his son's hand. "Please sit with me for a moment."

As Legolas uncertainly lowered himself on the edge of the couch, the king's heart sank even more. How could it be that his carefree, happy, confident son had faded into a shadow of himself before his very eyes and he hadn't been able to prevent it?

Ignoring the twinge from his still-healing wounds, Thranduil sat up and pulled Legolas into an embrace. "My little leaf," he whispered, resting his head on his son's. "What is happening to you?"

Legolas wrapped his arms around his father, carefully avoiding his wounds, and listened to the steady heartbeat under his ear. Overwhelmed with the realisation of how close he had come to never hearing that blissful sound again, the last remnants of his composure crumbled and tears started to flow unbidden. "I am sorry, _ada_ ," he breathed, mortified at his lack of self-control, but at the same time wanting nothing more than to stay in his father's protective embrace as long as he possibly could. " _Goheno nin!"_

"Forgive you?" Thranduil asked, completely aghast. "But whatever for, _ion-nín_?"

"If I had reacted more quickly out in the woods, if I had not frozen, none of this would have happened. You would not have been injured, and ..."

It took the full capabilities of his Elven hearing for Thranduil to decipher Legolas' muffled words against his chest, but he had heard enough. "Legolas. Stop." He pulled his son closer and started to run soothing fingers over the golden head. "Listen to me. It was an accident. Accidents happen. And I do not think this one could have been prevented from happening. It was nobody's fault, unless you want to blame the storm."

"But ..."

"Hush. This was _not your fault._ " Legolas' breath hitched, but Thranduil felt that his son was listening. "And there is something else you need to understand." The king pulled back a little and gently cradled Legolas' tear-stained face in his palm. "If the same situation arose again, the same circumstances, I would do again exactly what I did then. I would not change a single thing. And if my injuries and pain are the price I have to pay to save you, I gladly will, because I love you so much more than my health and well-being, and you are worth so much more than this."

Legolas slumped forward against his father's chest, violent sobs interfering with his ability to breathe. Neither father nor son could remember the last time the young elf had wept like this. _"Ai, ion-nin,"_ Thranduil sighed, wrapping his arms around his son again and slightly rocking him from side to side. "Let go of your heavy burden. You have carried it for far too long."

\\*/*\\*/

For the longest time, Legolas seemed unable to calm down. His father's heart broke at the depth of his sorrow, though he knew that it was an important step towards his healing. Eventually, Legolas' tears ran out and he lay exhausted in his father's arms.

Thranduil leant back, pulling his son with him, and closed his eyes. In a calm, soothing motion he ran his hand up and down Legolas' back, waiting for his breath to even out and for all tension to leave his muscles.

On the brink of falling asleep, a slow realisation started to build in the king's mind. "You know, there is also a lesson for me to learn in all of this," he murmured after a long while, a faint smile in his voice.

"A lesson?" Legolas asked, tilting his head back so he could better look at his father. "What kind of lesson?"

Thranduil tenderly pushed a moist strand of hair from his son's flushed, damp face and ran gentle fingers over Legolas' cheeks to wipe the tears away. "Why do you think I try to conceal my burn scars at all times?"

The unexpected question caught the young elf by surprise. He slightly shook his head. "I do not know. I have never thought about it."

An unexpected chuckle rumbled in Thranduil's chest. "Believe it or not, but neither have I. Until now." Then he grew sombre again. "In the beginning, I think it was shame. And a great deal of insecurity, too. I had just started courting your mother, and I did not want her to shy away from me, or to be disgusted by the way I looked. It took a long time until I let her see my scars. As it turned out, it did not stop her from binding herself to me."

Legolas listened in rapt attention. His father so very rarely spoke of his mother that he soaked up every little detail to store away like a precious treasure.

Thranduil, on the other hand, found himself torn between pain and fond memory. He knew he _needed_ to tell his son about his mother, but even after all these centuries it was still hard. With a deep breath, he ploughed ahead. "Being a young, inexperienced king did not help matters. I was out of my depth, and I could not afford to show even the slightest weakness. Or at least I thought so."

He sighed and dropped his hand to Legolas' arm. "These last months, however, have made me realise that I have sorely underestimated my people. They have shown so much love and respect to me and you, despite our being in what is maybe our most vulnerable state in centuries. Not one of them has tried to take advantage of the situation; they have been nothing but concerned and helpful. I find that deeply humbling," the king admitted in a low, halting voice.

"Of _course_ we love and respect you, _ada_. It is not your good looks that make you a good king, you know?" Legolas remarked with a shy smile. "And your scars are nothing to be ashamed of. You got wounded defending your people and saving many lives. If anything, they are a sign of what lengths you are willing to go to in order to keep your people safe from harm."

Thranduil turned his head to properly look at him and raised an eyebrow. "So how come that you readily accept what I am doing as a king for my people, yet cannot accept what I am doing as a father for you as my beloved child?"


	15. Chapter 13 part I

_**A/N: I'll spare you my apologies for the long break since the last chapter ... Anyway, this one has been sitting-half-ready for a while and I just decided to post the first part now, before you have to wait even longer.**_

 _ **Things are slowly drawing to a conclusion story-wise, but it will take another three chapters, I guess, to wrap it up properly.**_

 _ **A huge thank you to everyone who still reads and follows, and to everyone who reviewed and favourited this story. Needless to say, I LOVE hearing from you!**_

 _ **Disclaimer: Not mine, yada yada. Just playing with them, and I promise to clean them up before I put them back.**_

 _ **And now, on with the story ...**_

 **Chapter 13 part I**

Day seven after the surgery found the Lord of Imladris and the Elvenking strolling down to a secluded spot by one of the little lakes in the valley – the latter in an endeavour to exercise neglected muscles and rebuild his strength, and the former in an endeavour to escape his own dismal thoughts.

It was a sunny day, mild and warm, with all the birds singing in the trees and the trees themselves singing along to the tune of the gentle breeze and their tiny feathered companions in their branches. Arriving by the lake, Thranduil just stood for a while, turning his face into the sun and listening to the joyful song of nature that surrounded them.

Elrond smiled fondly and lowered himself into the soft grass. Neither of them felt the need to speak, both simply drinking in the glorious beauty of _Arda_.

Eventually Thranduil joined Elrond on the ground, looking around and drawing a deep breath. "I did not realise how much I missed this," he admitted quietly.

Elrond turned to face him, planting his feet on the ground and resting his arms on his knees. "Thranduil, what did I do wrong for you to keep your distance for so long, and so suddenly?"

Deep sorrow and shame settled on the Elvenking's features. "Nothing. It was nothing you did," he replied. "You were the best friend I could have wished for. You were never anything but kind and caring and understanding."

He paused for a moment in an attempt to find the right words for what he did not entirely understand himself. "That last summer we spent here, Legolas started asking questions about his mother. Apparently he had been watching the twins and Arwen with Celebrían, the way they interacted with each other, and suddenly he seemed to become aware of what he was missing."

Pain flashed over Thranduil's face, while compassion entered Elrond's gaze. Sensing that his old friend needed to tell the story in his own time, the Lord of Imladris held his peace.

"Mind you, he never said as much, and to this day he has never complained. He understands that his mother faded in the wake of what was done to her twin sister. And unlike me, he never seemed to resent her for not clinging harder to life when she had a young child depending on her." The king pressed his lips into a thin line at the memory, trying hard to rein in the anger and grief that sometimes still was so, so raw. After a moment, though, he continued:

"He simply wanted to know a little more about his mother – how she was, what she liked doing, that sort of thing. But I found that I could not even answer the simplest questions. I just ... could not." Thranduil shook his head in confusion about his own reaction. "Legolas seemed to take this as a sign that such questions were not allowed and never asked again. And, coward that I am, I was glad that he did not. I noticed that he started to withdraw somewhat, but I simply let it happen."

Again, Thranduil paused. He knew he owed it to Elrond to tell him the truth, but it was a truth that was painful to confess. "In any case, the damage was done. I did not like that distance between Legolas and me, but instead of admitting to myself that I was the problem, I started to grow resentful." The king swallowed, forcing himself to look his friend in the eyes when he continued. "I am deeply ashamed to admit it, but I became resentful of your and your children's happiness with Celebrían. Truth be told, I started to resent seeing _anyone's_ family happiness, but you seemed so _unbearably_ perfectly happy ..." The king stopped abruptly, mortified to feel the same emotions rear their ugly heads at the memory. He looked away, clenching his teeth in frustration and anger at himself. It only lasted a moment, though, before he turned back to his friend, once more locking eyes with Elrond. "In the end it seemed easier to just stay away. Out of sight, out of mind ... or so I thought," he finished quietly.

Elrond's eyes swirled with emotion. This was not what he had expected to hear.

Thranduil gave a helpless shrug. "After a while I came to my senses and I realised how wrong and cruel I was to think and feel this way. But then I was too ashamed to reach out to you, and too afraid as well. And now ..." The king searched his friend's face for any sign of anger or disgust but found only sadness in the kind, wise face. "Now I wish I could take back every envious and begrudging thought I ever had, because even in my deepest resentment I never once wished for you to suffer the same loss. I am so very sorry, Elrond!"

The ancient elf lord regarded his age-old friend for a few more long moments before he reached over and pulled him into a tight hug. "Oh, you stubborn Sinda," he sighed, just barely resisting the impulse to cuff him upside the head.

Thranduil huffed out a laugh – or was it a sob? – and closed his eyes. "I am sorry," he repeated in a thick voice.

Elrond held him a little longer, knowing the proud king needed to regain his composure before showing his face again. When he did, he sought Thranduil's eyes, his own gaze open and sincere. "I wish you had told me sooner. I have no idea what I could have done about it, but at least I would have known. But ... I understand. The pain, the anger, the grief, the resentment – all of it."

"I wish you did not have to," Thranduil whispered. "And I wish I had never allowed my own stupidity and pettiness to come between us. I wish I had been there for you when you needed me."

"You are here now ... and I still need you," Elrond replied warmly. "Having you back as a friend is a great gift. Because I have missed you more than I can say. And seeing at least one good thing come out of all the bad things that have happened gives me hope that it has not all been in vain."

\\*/*\\*/

Meanwhile in the Last Homely House, the two seneschals were sitting on the balcony of Erestor's study, nursing cups of wine and mulling over the problem of the upcoming first anniversary of Lady Celebrían's sailing.

"So let me sum this up," Glorfindel said, exasperation written all over his face. "Arwen will remain in Lothlórien, Elrohir and Elladan want to ignore it entirely, and Elrond will be hiding away somewhere, probably with Thranduil, and wants no part in this. Remind me why we are going to the trouble of observing the day at all?"

Erestor shot him an annoyed, but not completely unsympathetic look. "Because we cannot _not_ do it," he replied slowly, as if explaining something very complicated to a slightly dim-witted pupil. "The people of Imladris loved their lady and know nothing of what transpired in the end. They need permission to keep a day of commemorating and grieving. And so do Elrond and the twins, whether they know it or not. They will regret it if they do not. It would do more harm than good."

"Forgive me, my lords ..." a shy voice came from the doorway, startling both seneschals. The intruder took a step forward, smiling apologetically. "I did not mean to eavesdrop, but you told me to find you in your office after lunch, Lord Erestor. I knocked, but it seems you did not hear me. I am sorry; you must think me very rude."

"Not at all, my prince," Erestor hurried to reassure him. "It is I who should apologise. I completely forgot about our meeting." He rose to his feet and moved another chair to the table. "Please sit."

Legolas complied, declining the cup of wine Glorfindel held out to him with a small shake of his head. "As I said, I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I could not help overhearing the issue you have been discussing. I hope you do not think me presumptuous, but may I offer a thought?"

"By all means, please do, my prince," Glorfindel replied. "As you heard, we are hopelessly stuck on the matter."

"Well, it is less a thought and more a personal experience I would like to share," the Greenwood prince qualified. "About the way we commemorate the passing of ... our queen every year."

Both elf lords instantly sobered, inclining their heads as a gesture of respect. Both noticed the odd phrasing and the slight hesitation in the young prince's voice as he obviously replaced "my mother" with "our queen" in his head. "Only if it does not cause you distress to speak about it, Legolas," Erestor said softly.

But Legolas smiled again. "Thank you for your concern, Lord Erestor, but it does not, and I think you will see why." He leaned forward in his chair, sorted through his thoughts for a moment, and began: "For as long as I can remember, we have held this day as a silent day of remembrance in the entire realm. All work ceases, apart from the defence of the kingdom. My father and I spend the day together, but away from the court – sometimes in our quarters, sometimes out in the woods. Then in the evening there is a great meal for everyone who wishes to take part. For the people around the realm, my father has food and wine sent in advance so everyone can join in.

"My father and I return for the meal, and my father takes his place at the head of the main table. On that day, the seat that would be my mother's remains free, plate and cup and cutlery all laid out but remaining untouched, as a sign that she cannot and will never be replaced. The meal is taken in silence, but at the end, my father rises to say a few words in appreciation of the support of our people have shown him through the years. Then we drink to the memory of the queen.

"After that, people will share their memories of the queen until late into the evening. Sometimes my father stays for that part, sometimes he does not. I usually do, unless I feel that my father needs me. At midnight, I meet him in his rooms and we hold a silent wake until dawn. In the morning, court life resumes as usual."

Erestor and Glorfindel looked at the young Greenwood prince with warm respect and heartfelt compassion. "Thank you, my prince," the Golden Warrior said quietly. "You have just shared a great gift with us."

And while Legolas blushed and ducked his head, the Chief Advisor leaned back in his chair and shared a thoughtful look with his best friend. "I think I have an idea."

 _ **To be continued ...**_

\\*/*\\*/

 _ **And a tiny sneak peek into part two of this chapter:**_

"Why did she not fight harder?" Elrohir blurted out, decidedly angry.

Elrond looked at him with a questioning expression. "What do you mean? Why do you think she did not fight with all her strength?"

"Because she did not!" Elladan retorted defiantly. "Why else was she so resentful that we did not let her die? And why did she not just fade, if living was so horrible?"

\\*/*\\*/

 _ **Reviews are highly appreciated! Cheers!**_


	16. Chapter 13 part II

_**A/N: No, this is not a hallucination. This is indeed the second part of the latest chapter, not even a week after the first part. As I said, it was already half written and I just had to fill in some bits and pieces. Hope you like it. And maybe don't put your tissue box too far away.**_

 _ **Disclaimer: If I were making any money from this, I'd retire, move to the Cotswolds and become a full-time writer. As it is, I'll keep doing the next best thing and stay a full-time translator in the coolest capital of the world.**_

 **Chapter 13 pt 2**

The connecting door between Thranduil's and Legolas' rooms opened just enough for the golden head to peek through. " _Ada_? Are you up?" the prince whispered into the half-darkness of the early morning.

"I am now ..." Thranduil mumbled, turning onto his stomach and pulling his pillow over his head.

Legolas chuckled. A morning person, his father was not. Sometimes he wondered how a younger Thranduil had survived his years in the army, being forced to rise before dawn and be alert within seconds. Maybe that was when he had earned his infamous reputation of being unpredictable and having a volatile temper. To this day, court sessions never started before the last of the morning dew had dried up in the mid-morning sun, and even the most thick-skinned officials gave the king wide berth when some unavoidable business had to be done before breakfast.

"I brought you tea," Legolas announced undeterred, entering fully and setting a heavy breakfast tray on the table. He prepared a cup the way his father liked it and carried it over to the Elvenking-shaped lump under the covers.

With some rustling and grumbling, Thranduil sat up and took the cup from his son's hands. "Tell me again why you are waking me in the middle of the night?" he yawned around a sip of tea.

Legolas flopped down on the mattress near his father's feet and folded his legs under him. "I have something planned for us that will take most of the day. So in order to be done in time for dinner tonight, we need to start early," he explained.

"And you are still not going to tell me?" Thranduil asked, draining his cup and slipping out of bed. His son had been extremely secretive and extremely serious about his plans for this day, making him promise to go along, no matter what. Had it been anyone _but_ his son, the king would have refused categorically.

As it was, he did not even wait for an answer but picked up his clothes for the day and vanished into the adjoining bathroom. When he emerged, breakfast for two was laid out on the table and his son was waiting for him.

A velvet pouch by Legolas' plate caught the Thranduil's eye. "What is this?" he asked, startling in bewilderment when he felt a rush of confusing emotions coming from his son.

"This is what we are going to do today," Legolas explained quietly, nodding for his father to go ahead when his hand hovered over the pouch.

Thranduil peered into the soft bag and, unable to identify the contents right away, reached in to pull out one of the items it contained. As soon as he recognised what he was holding in his hand, he sat down heavily, breakfast forgotten. "Your music box," he whispered, his heart clenching painfully in his chest at the memory of that fateful night.

" _Our_ music box," his son corrected gently. "I would have fixed it but I did not know how. Then I thought, _What better person to repair it than the one who built it in the first place?_ So I brought it to Imladris, hoping that you would find the time to do it while we were here. Only I did not know how to bring it up. Then someone suggested that maybe we could do it together, and I thought it was the perfect thing for us to do today. Lord Erestor kindly granted us use of his small private workshop."

The Elvenking looked at the wood fragment in his hand. "It will take more than a day to fix this," he replied quietly.

Legolas reached across the table, putting his hand over his father's which still held one of the broken pieces. "I am aware of that," he said, locking eyes with the king. "There is no rush. We will take as much time as we need. But please, _ada_ ... teach me how to mend what is broken."

Thranduil sighed sadly. "I am not sure I am the right person to _teach_ you. As you know, I have much more experience in breaking things."

"I know that is not true," the young prince replied with a gentle smile, squeezing his father's fingers. "You restored an entire kingdom from the ashes of war. Everything else must be child's play in comparison."

A small shake of the king's head and a spark of determination in his eyes told Legolas that his father needed no further convincing. "Restoring what is broken is _never_ child's play. Not if it is something of consequence. So if there is any wisdom I can impart, it is this: It takes only a moment to break something; it takes infinitely longer to repair it. And provided there _is_ a way to repair the damage, it will never be exactly as it was before."

With a thoughtful expression on his fair face, Legolas contemplated his father's words for a moment. "But _different_ does not necessarily mean _worse_ , does it?"

Thranduil smiled and grasped his son's hands. "No, it does not. And if it concerns something of consequence, it is always worth the effort. _Always._ "

\\*/*\\*/

The spacious, light-flooded suite which had been their bedroom for centuries had been sealed the day they had left for the Grey Havens and never been opened again. Such had been his orders. Thus, Elrond was surprised beyond words to find a letter on the table of the abandoned room which he was sure had not been there a year ago.

Picking it up and turning it in his hands, he saw the word _Adar_ written on it in very neatly printed _tengwar._

Arwen.

He broke the seal and carefully unfolded the single sheet of paper.

" _Dear Ada,_

 _Please forgive me for going against your wishes in entering this room, but I could not leave without taking something with me to remind me of_ nana _. I took one of her necklaces and the small picture of her, the twins, and me that she kept on her bedside table. I hope you do not mind._

 _I think I will never understand why things were so distant between you in the end, but I know that both of you were hurting deeply._

 _I hope one day the good memories will start to return and prevail over the bad ones. Until then, know that I love you with all my heart._

 _Your_ Undómiel"

Elrond stared at the letter a few moments longer, then refolded it with the same care as before and placed it back on the table.

He glanced around the room. Whatever he had imagined he might feel at coming back here, this was not it. Anger, grief, despair, nostalgia, even love: each of those he might have understood ... welcomed, even. But he felt – nothing. Indifferent. Detached.

A book on Celebrían's bedside table caught his eye. It looked familiar but out of place. He walked over, picked it up and opened it. It was a children's storybook, the twin's, to be precise. Both he and Celebrían had spent endless hours reading it to the elflings. How it had made its way from the twins' quarters into Celebrían's bedroom, he could not remember, but he felt his sons might like to have it back. Especially on this day.

He found Elrohir and Elladan in Celebrían's garden, an exceptionally beautiful, secluded spot near the house, where mother and children had spent so many happy days that in sum they likely amounted to centuries. The twins looked up at their father's almost soundless arrival, much sorrow yet even more questions written in their eyes. Elrond hesitated for a moment. "Would you rather be alone?" he asked softly, wrapping his arms around their shoulders from behind where they were sitting on a fallen tree. Absently he noted the lack of upkeep in the garden, and that he should do something about it.

"No, _ada_. Please stay ... if you do not mind," Elrohir replied, scooting over so his father could sit between him and his brother.

"This was your mother's favourite place," Elrond said, letting his gaze wander over the flowers, shrubs, and trees in the small walled enclosure.

"It always gave her so much joy, and she loved it so much," Elladan agreed in a sorrowful tone. "Why did it no longer after she was rescued, after she had healed? Why could she not find joy in anything?"

Elrond had asked himself the same questions a thousand times over during those last two years, and found the answer sorely lacking in comfort. "Because darkness had entered her soul," he replied eventually. "It was a darkness that could not be defeated this side of the sea, I fear."

"But why did she not fight it harder?" Elrohir blurted out, decidedly angry.

Elrond looked at him with a questioning expression. "What do you mean? Why do you think she did not fight it with all her strength?"

"Because she did not!" Elladan retorted defiantly. "Why else was she so resentful about us not letting her die? And why did she not just fade, if living was so horrible?"

Silence fell for a long time after the twins' outburst. In the end, Elrond pulled the storybook out of a pocket in his robes. "I found this on her bedside table," he said softly. The twins looked surprised; they had not even noticed that their book was missing, nor had they seen it in their mother's bedroom.

"What was she doing with that?" Elladan wondered.

His father shrugged. "Honestly, I do not know. I am not even sure it was she who took it. Maybe Arwen brought it. She often sat with your mother in the evenings, reading to her. What she read, I cannot tell. I was not welcome in her rooms anymore."

The flat tone in which their father said the last words sent a flare of fresh anger through the twins: anger at the enemy, for what had been done to their family, but also anger at their mother, for what she had done to their father.

Elrond felt the shift in his sons' mood and slightly shook his head. "Do not waste your time and strength on questions that will not be answered this side of the sea," he said quietly, pulling his sons into a soothing embrace. "Be angry if you need to, but do not dwell forever on a single year out of the many happy centuries which you had with your mother ... which we had as a family. And if you find a good memory, one that does not hurt, then hold on to it. Do not allow it to be devalued by what happened in the end."

\\*/*\\*/

There was not one free seat in the Hall of Fire that evening. All who had received an invitation had indeed come. Although every single Imladris elf was understanding about the tragedy the Peredhil family had gone through, they all had missed these evening gatherings, and most of all they had missed their lord. The fact that they had been invited for this very occasion had come as a surprise to all.

Their surprise even grew when the Lord of Imladris and his sons entered the hall in the company of the Greenwood monarchs. Of course they had heard of the famed Elvenking's visit, but they certainly had not expected him to be at the commemoration ceremony of Lady Celebrían's sailing.

Only barely able to refrain from open-mouthed stares, dozens of Imladris elves rose from their seats and followed with their eyes as the Peredhil family and the Greenwood delegation took their places. At Erestor's sign, everyone else sat down, and complete silence fell save for the quiet whisper of the wind and the gentle hiss of the fires.

"Thank you all for coming tonight," Elrond said, his calm, clear voice easily carrying to even the farthest corner of the hall. "As we commemorate Lady Celebrían's sailing today, my family and I wish to thank you for everything you have done for us over the past two years. We are most grateful for all the help you have provided in great and small ways. Know that we take none of this for granted.

"I am also aware that many of our usual customs have been disrupted due to the tragedy that has befallen our valley. Some of these customs were inextricably linked with Lady Celebrían's person and cannot be continued without her, at least not in the same way. But there is one custom which I would like to take up again tonight."

Elrond looked around the hall, taking in the many families with small children who had assembled upon his invitation, and a wistful smile flitted over his wise, handsome face. "As is tradition, all children who were born during the past two years are today given the Medal of Imladris*. Wherever they will go, this will be the sign that they are citizens and under the protection of this realm." He paused, sharing a brief look with his sons. "Lady Celebrían used to take great joy in this special occasion, and there was not one child in Rivendell that was not known to her by name. If you loved her, keep her memory alive by telling your children about her, who was the mother of Imladris for so many centuries."

\\*/*\\*/

 _ **A/N 2: *I have no idea if such a thing as a "Medal of Imladris" exists in Tolkien's legendarium, but I thought it was an appropriate token for this scene.**_

 _ **Challenge/bribe/contest/whatever: The reviewer who breaks the 100-review mark gets an honorary mention in the A/N for the next chapter as well as the chance to give me a story prompt. So don't forget to log in for your review!**_


	17. Chapter 14

_**A/N: Thank you for all your reviews on the last chapter. The 100-review-mark was broken by ... Cucumber Pickles! If you're reading this, the offer for a free story prompt stands, so let me know in case you're interested.  
**_

 **Chapter 14**

Summer came and went in the valley of Imladris, and it was spent making up for all the summers that were missed during the past long decades of separation. Hearts, bonds, and friendships healed under the warming rays of _Anor_ , and bit by bit some of the heaviness that had prevailed for so long evaporated like the morning dew.

Thranduil decided that the Greenwood party would stay until Elrond's begetting day, as the Lord of the valley himself had suggested. He knew his kingdom to be in trustworthy and capable hands during his absence, and he wanted a little more time with his son before the duties of the realm would inevitably keep them busy, and sometimes apart.

His own health and strength had returned in full, and thanks to a rigorous exercise regimen with the help of Elrond and Glorfindel he was back to his former agility as well. More than once they had drawn a crowd when sparring: even Legolas and his personal guard, who were used to witnessing his fighting prowess, stood wide-eyed at the sight of the three ancient elf-lords in their dance of swift muscles, minds, and blades.

Even more than to his physical recovery, Thranduil applied his utmost diligence to restoring his relationship with his son. Although a huge burden was lifted from the young prince ever since that emotional afternoon after the surgery, at times Legolas still seemed unsure and cautious around him, anxious about little things that never used to bother him before. Truth be told, Thranduil himself had been shaken by the events of the past months more than he was comfortable admitting. Elrond was right in stating that one of his biggest fears was that of hurting his only child – and yet he had done just that in a moment of unchecked temper and failing self-control. The Elvenking didn't trust himself anymore – not fully.

Working together on repairing the music box, however, had gone a long way towards regaining their former ease around one another. With every piece they put back together, the hope that they would overcome their insecurities returned and grew.

One evening near the end of their time in Imladris found father and son sitting on the balcony of their quarters, enjoying the last warming rays of _Anor_ and admiring their finished handiwork over a bottle of sweet blackberry wine.

"It sounds different," Legolas commented pensively after the music box had stopped playing its soothing little melody.

Thranduil looked up, searching his son's face for any clue as to where he was going with his thoughts. The words had sounded neutral enough, but he knew better than to take things at face value with his son, who was very much like him in many respects, sometimes painfully so.

"But it would, would it not?" the prince continued after a reflective pause. "After all, we used different wood and tools from what you used to build it in the first place," he speculated, seemingly oblivious to his father's searching gaze. He gently turned the key to wind it up again and listened to the tune once more. "It does not sound worse, though," he decided a few bars into the melody. "It sounds ... richer ... with more nuances and overtones." At long last Legolas looked up, a soft smile warming his features. "I like it."

Thranduil let out a long breath, reaching over and covering his son's wrist with his hand. "I know I am repeating myself, but then again, maybe it _is_ the main lesson about restoring broken things: they will never be the same as before. Sometimes they will be worse. Sometimes – very occasionally – they will be better. But they will always, always be _different_."

Legolas turned his hand, tenderly wrapping his fingers around his father's. "Will you please take your own advice and forgive yourself, _ada_?" he asked softly.

The king looked away, sensing that his astute son was referring to more than what had happened that fateful night. A wave of unbidden memories resurfaced, surprising him in their intensity.

It took a while before he found himself returning to the here and now. The soft tune of the music box filtered into his consciousness, along with the sensation of being held in a gentle, unobtrusive embrace. He brought one hand up to rest upon his son's forearm and allowed himself to lean into the comforting arms that surrounded his shoulders.

"I am not sure if I deserve to," he whispered.

He felt his son curl around him protectively, and tears of humility clouded his vision at the pure love flooding his heart through their bond. "But that is just the thing about forgiveness, is it not?" Legolas asked, his voice as quiet as his father's. "We never truly deserve it. We can only receive it with a grateful heart, and let it mend what we cannot."


	18. Epilogue

**_A/N: If you want closure, don't forget to read chapter 14 (i.e., the chapter before this one)!_  
**

 **Epilogue**

"Promise me that you will come and visit me in the Greenwood!" It was a little hard to get the words out while being caught in a bone-crushing hug by the twins, but Legolas succeeded anyway.

"And you promise us not to stay away for another hundred years," Elrohir growled, gently cuffing the prince up the head, perfectly in sync with Elladan.

Legolas laughed and planted a big kiss on both of their foreheads in retaliation, causing them to blush scarlet. "I am going to miss you morons," he grinned, the warmth of deep friendship radiating from his eyes.

"Not as much as Galion is going to miss Amdirwen," Elladan observed, jutting his chin towards a not-so-unobserved spot in the shadows of the long stairway leading down to the courtyard, where the Elvenking's personal aide was currently holding Lindir's beautiful cousin in a comforting embrace.

Elrohir's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. " _How_ did I not notice that?" he squeaked.

"Because you were too busy tying pink bows into Lindir's harp," Legolas offered smugly.

"Since when has this been going on?" the older twin asked no-one in particular, ignoring his friend's jab.

"I believe since around the time of my surgery, when Lindir took Galion to visit his extended family." The sonorous voice of the Elvenking made the three young _ellyn_ snap around in surprise. "I also believe we may have to return as early as next summer, _mellon-nín_ ," he continued, blue eyes sparkling with mirth, and slung a nonchalant arm around Elrond's shoulders.

"Next summer?" Legolas all but squealed, just barely keeping himself from jumping up and down in glee.

"Are you certain?" Elrond asked sceptically. "Surely there is no such rush in this matter?"

But Thranduil just chuckled and squeezed his old friend's shoulder. "Galion came to me last night, asking permission to return in the spring in order to help prepare for _a summer wedding_!"

Elrond hung his head and groaned. "You are enjoying this far too much," he mock-grumbled, pulling a bottle of his finest wine out of a hidden pocket and handing it over to the Elvenking.

"You had a _bet_ going on this?" Elrohir asked, still incredulous. "Was I the only one who didn't notice what was going on there?" he whined when he saw Feren tossing a small pouch of coins to Elros in feigned disgruntlement.

"No, of course not, brother," Elladan hurried to reassure him. "I think the cook didn't know anything either."

And while Legolas struggled valiantly to keep Elrohir from tackling his twin to the ground, Elrond drew Thranduil into a final farewell hug. "I will count the days until I see you return to the Last Homely House," he said, an affectionate smile in his warm voice.

"Thank you again for everything you have done for me – for us," Thranduil replied, tightening his hold on his friend before resolutely letting go. He swung up on his horse, nimble and lithe as if he had never been injured, put a hand to his heart and swept his arm outwards, in the customary gesture of farewell. "May joy and happiness return to your life, _mellon-nín_ , and may the blessing of the heavens be upon you."

\\*/*\\*/

One year to the day after the devastating accident, the Elvenking and his son returned to the site of the near-tragedy. The trees gently swayed in joyful welcome upon the arrival of the royals, singing in delight as smooth hands were laid on rough bark all around.

Finally they stood under the mighty old oak tree that a year ago had been so close to fading. Father and son placed their joined hands on the trunk, smiling at the happiness that immediately flooded their senses. _My king! My prince! You have returned! And what a joy it is to see you fully restored, Your Majesty!_

 _Aye, my friend. And the joy is all mine!,_ Thranduil replied, his smile widening at the way Legolas slung his arms around the massive trunk as far as he could reach. _And have your own wounds been fully healed?_ , he then asked in concern.

Something akin to a sigh emanated from the ancient oak. _They have now, my king._

Content beyond words, Thranduil shifted a little to put his arms around both Legolas and the tree. He rested his cheek on the crown of his son's golden head and closed his eyes. _Thank you for reminding me_ , ion-nín _,_ he said, voicelessly communicating through their bond.

 _Reminding you of what,_ ada?

 _That the bonds of family and friendship are not easily broken._

 _ **A/N2: And thus we leave my favourite elves to enjoy their peace of mind and good health until I return with my next story.**_

 _ **Thank you, everyone who kept reading and reviewing, and of course to everyone who followed and favourited. I'd be delighted to hear what you think, so please drop me a line, even if it's a short one.**_

 _ **I hope you had a lovely Christmas time, and I wish you all the best for coming year. May it be filled with love and friendship and blessings all around!**_


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